#so I can wear one of the three things that still fit me tomorrow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lacollectionneuse1967 · 6 months

Text

slip of the tongue part 3 - reckoning

Theseus Scamander x Reader

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible. "I can't," he groans.

summary: a second mission with newt and the group reintroduces theseus's former fiancée, leta lestrange, into the mix. old wounds and insecurities flare as you both reckon with your pasts and make decisions that determine your future.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: romance with plot. some smut. slight angst!! non-canon compliant.

warnings: 18+ smut, semi-public inappropriate touching, dirty talk, hand kink

part one / part two / part three

author's note: it's funny how the title of this fic doesn't really fit anymore HAHA, goes to show that i did not plan this story at all. this part is going to be LONGER & more focused on plot & their character development! hope you enjoy, as always let me know if you'd like me to continue :)

The surreal, electric buzz from the gala dissipates as soon as you enter the elevator at the Hotel de Rome with Theseus.

Theseus's jacket is so large you're practically drowning in it, the sleeves hang well past your hands. You feel like a little girl in a nightgown. The elevator pulleys burr mechanically as it slowly rises, the electric bulb light casting your face in a sickly, ghastly light. The backs of your high heels have begun to dig painfully into your skin, that stinging pain the only thing grounding you to reality, that and Theseus's warm body beside you. You're positive your feet are bleeding.

Your weariness is mirrored in everyone else's faces when you walk into the hotel room at last. It's obvious that they're all overextended. There's no semblance of victoriousness, even after your successful heist.

Newt stands, alert, at the sight of his brother.

"Theseus! Finally, I was beginning to worry-"

"I'm fine, brother," Theseus waves him off. His hair is slightly damp from the snowfall, and his dress shirt as well. "We got caught up, but we're fine."

When Newt turns to speak to you, his lips part but no words come out. He's staring at your mouth. He looks pale and horrified.

"What?" You turn to the others and to Theseus in uncertainty. Tina and Jacob are also looking at you with newfound distress, but Theseus seems as clueless as you, frowning warily at Newt.

Newt makes as if to bring a hand to your face but pulls back at the last moment.

"Oh dear," Newt says. "Y-Your lipstick is smeared... I'm so terribly sorry, Y/N. And your hair—I didn’t think Dietrich would actually-"

Theseus half-raises an arm, cutting his brother short, looking admonished.

“Actually, Newt, that would be my doing...”

Your face warms considerably. Newt chokes on his words.

“Oh…” He turns to the rest of the group, his face nearly flushed as yours. Jacob lets out a strangled noise and Tina does a discreet double-take between you and Theseus.

“Well,” says Newt, mercifully changing the subject. “We all made off fantastically. Good work.”

You want to share in his congratulations, but it feels premature with Grindelwald still at large. It doesn't feel as though you have much to celebrate in this tiny hotel room, the five of you still standing awkwardly in your evening wear.

"What now?" Asks Tina.

Newt sits on one of the two twin-sized beds and hunches over, forearms on his legs. He is your designated leader, but you have to admit he looks so small and frail without his coat. Thin and unsure of himself.

"I have it on good authority that Credence will be at a mausoleum in the French Alps. He could be heading there now, we have no way of knowing, but he is planning on going there soon. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Why?" Tina's face is full of emotion. You don't know who Credence is, or why he is important to the resistance, but you don't feel that now is the time to ask. It stuns you, the subtlety of her expression, how someone can look so crushed and full of love at once.

"He's, erm, searching for his ancestral records I believe," Newt answers. "The Lestrange artifacts and family tree were moved there from the cemetery in Paris, possibly by Grindelwald. This is likely all a trap set for Credence, but this could very well be our last chance to intercept him. To save him."

Tina is speechless, Jacob nods solemnly.

"Y/N," says Newt. It startles you to hear him say your name in all of this deliberation. "I know you probably don't understand half of what we're saying, and we understand if you don't want to come. But we'll likely run into Grindelwald and his followers. They're after Credence. We could use you."

You don't even have to think.

"Of course, Newt. I go where Theseus goes." You wonder if you sound too intense, too devoted, so you add: "And besides, I want to be of any help that I can."

Theseus reaches out and clasps your hand in his. It thrills you, for him to do this in front of his brother, in front of the others. Your heart races, happily so.

Newt smiles at the sight.

"Sleep," he turns to everyone. "We leave first thing in the morning."

----

The next day, by the time you make it to the French Alps in spats of apparition and stretches of traveling by train, it is nearly dusk again.

You and Theseus had slept like the dead in the too-small hotel room bed, with Tina in the other bed and Jacob and Newt, in a turn of events beyond your understanding, in some hidden compartment within Newt's brown leather suitcase. Strange, but you didn't question it. Your bodies ached when you woke, but it felt like heaven to you, being held by him, you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"I'm too big for this bed," he lamented, stretching his limbs, when the two of you woke in the morning.

"Hmm, yeah. Too big... " When you smiled coyly and narrowed your eyes at him he threw a pillow at your face. You caught it with a laugh.

"Naughty," he chided.

"The resistance," as Theseus had once jokingly called it, turned out to be not so glamorous after all. The resistance was perpetually tired and forever embarking on some haphazard plans only half-understood.

But when you set foot at the base of the mountains in the Alps, you feel bizarrely energized. This is what you imagined the work of an Auror would be like, chasing leads, pursuing justice through crowded cities and rugged terrain. It feels good to be so proactive after a year of being more or less cooped up in an office at the Ministry. And, best of all, Theseus is here with you. And he wants you, if not your heart then your body, at last, at least...

"This can't be it, Newt," you hear Jacob say, his breath pluming in front of him in small huffs. He struggles through the thick snowbed to catch up to Newt, who is a bit ahead of the group. You're in what looks like a forest clearing, the mountains rise in the distance, gargantuan and feeling a bit holy in their emptiness, their silence.

"He's right. There's nothing out here," calls Tina.

It's a winter forest. A killing wood. In truth, you’ve never been so cold in your entire life. The whole world has turned white as death: white blizzard blotting the air, thick blankets of fresh snow carpet the ground, and everywhere outside the clearing are great white pines standing like sentries, their edges blurred and softened by the snow fog.

You can see what’s in front of you, but you can’t see what’s coming.

Newt walks clumsily back through the budding blizzard to rejoin the group.

"The mausoleum should be a bit uphill from here!" He assures. "It's concealed by magic. Credence doesn't know, but we need someone with the blood of a Lestrange to enter."

The blood of a Lestrange.

Before you can even make the connection, Theseus stiffens beside you and drops your hand.

"Newt, you didn't." His voice is grave.

"I'm so sorry."

You wonder in a shrugging, aloof way why Newt looks to you after saying this to Theseus. It still doesn't mean anything to you.

A branch cracks, a high, ear-splitting sound like a broken bone. When you see the figure emerge from the tree line, your hand is already on your wand.

Grindelwald, you think.

But then Theseus's arm snaps out to yours, stilling your hand, almost just as quick.

"Don't." He says.

She approaches you slowly and you make out who it is almost immediately, just by the shape of her silhouette. Theseus and Newt's reactions make sense now, it all clicks into place with resounding dread. You feel the word "oh" in the pit of your stomach like a dropped stone.

Floating from the forest like that, in her wine-colored silk dress and black coat, Leta Lestrange really does look something like a ghost, or an angel...

When she approaches she walks straight to Theseus.

"Newt wrote to me," she says loud enough for everyone to hear, but she is only looking at Theseus. Looking at him like she's searching for some lifeline there. "Credence thinks he's my brother... We both know this cannot be true. I can help you get inside the mausoleum. I want to help you."

You dare to look at Theseus, bracing yourself. He looks genuinely stricken, lips parted, palms open and hanging limp beside him. So little affects him, he's so confident and secure in himself. But there in the clearing, the look on his face...

Before anyone can speak Newt steps forward again.

"I'm so sorry, but we need to get to Credence before Grindelwald. We have to go. Credence is... sensitive. He's afraid. It's best Tina and I go ahead. Leta, Theseus," he turns to the two, who are having some silent conversation with their eyes. It's so private and familiar you have to look away, you want to scream. "You two follow closely behind."

"What about me?" Jacob chimes in with a nervous laugh.

Newt tilts his head and gives Jacob a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. I won't leave you to the wolves. Y/N is a brilliant duelist and a master of all sorts of charms. You two will stay at the very back and wait outside the mausoleum. We can't afford to frighten Credence, and you need to alert us if you see any of Grindelwald's followers coming our way."

You nod numbly. Some roaring white noise fills your ears, anesthetizing the scene in front of you.

"Theseus," you hear Leta say softly. She places a gloved hand on his forearm. "Can I speak with you on the way there?"

"Of course," he responds, graciously, easily. She leads him up ahead.

You keep hoping Theseus will turn to you, even just to look back at you, to reassure, to reconnect now that Leta has been thrust back into the mix between you.

He does not turn back. You stare blankly at the back of his head as it disappears in the blurring snow. He follows Leta into the woods like a man being swept away by magic, following some siren song you can't hear.

'I can't compete with her,' you realize achingly. The truth rings dully in the pit of your stomach, metallically. 'They were engaged. They've been connected since childhood... I'm nothing.'

You try not to wring your hands or shuffle your feet, try not to look like someone left behind, wounded. You blink at the delicate crystals of snow that land on your lashes, hoping that the others don't mistake them for tears.

Newt comes over to you cautiously. He's not one for knowing what to say, but he's perceptive, and kind. Sinking, sinking, you can feel your heart being pulled to your feet and swallowed by the ground.

"Y/N," he begins. "I'm sure... When they were together—but when they separated…" He swallows and starts again. "I’m quite sure my brother’s mind is made up. I know he cares for you too, though I don’t know if he made you any promises-"

“He did not,” your voice sounds acrid, bitter to your ears, petulant, and you hate it. “It’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s okay. He doesn’t owe me anything.”

'And I don't owe him anything,' you finish in your mind. When really you love him like breathing, need him like water. You're just trying not to let it show.

You want to be nonchalant and unaffected, want to give only what he’ll take. You don’t want to ask for too much.

You don’t know why loving always takes the form of limitation with you. You withheld your feelings for him for nearly a year. You only ever do what he asks. You turned down jobs and tried your best not to burden him with your feelings, with your past.

Why this mode of loving, why starvation and restraint, when love itself, for you, felt like every door in you burst open at the sight of his face? It was a wild and unwieldy joy, a freeing sort of affection that you felt for him. Now and always.

You swallow thickly, embarrassed at the speed at which he abandoned you for her. Embarrassed by the way Tina and Newt and Jacob, even, are looking at you.

"Let's go," you say, trying to sound encouraging. Newt and Tina run ahead. You and Jacob walk in silence uphill, trudging through the snow.

----

In the end you don't see any action at all. The mausoleum appeared at Leta's beckoning, a wave of her wand and the stunning glass building, hexagonal, glittered into solidity in front of you. You and Jacob waited outside, as instructed, but through the thick, crystalline glass you could make out that the bodies and artifacts were housed in beautiful stone tombs, scattered in the glass room like giant chess pieces, and you could see what unfolded within.

Leta, Newt, and Tina were talking to Credence. They met him down where he was crouched on the floor, explaining something to him in hushed tones. He was sobbing so softly. And then he was gone, and so was Tina, who left with him.

You feel so utterly mute, so adrift, you're glad that Jacob doesn't speak to you.

Newt is the one who jogs out to you and Jacob. Theseus is still inside talking to Leta, who seems sad in a soft, unperturbed way. He's gazing at her so gently as she speaks. It's the way he looks at small animals, and children, and the people he loves.

Looking at them feels like looking at a photograph, or like looking through the windows at Primrose Hill when you were a child, before you'd outgrown the title of "orphan." You would escape the orphanage to peek into the townhouses, the family homes overlooking Regent's Park. Dining tables and grand pianos, all the lights on. Nothing to hide...

"Y/N," Newt says breathlessly. "We better get going. We beat Grindelwald here, but I don't know by how much."

You cross your arms to help with the cold.

"Okay. Where are we going-"

"Oh, it's probably best if you go back to London. Back to the Ministry. Lay low until you hear from me, or Dumbledore."

You don't know why his goodbye is so cutting. You know that he's not abandoning you too, but it's almost too much.

He purses his lips sympathetically.

"Stay safe, Y/N. Grindelwald is planning something big. But if we act any earlier Grindelwald and the Ministry will be onto us and our efforts will have been in vain."

"I know," you say. "I understand."

You apparate away without another word. You try not to think about the two of them, in the forest clearing, in the glass mausoleum, together in all the years before that, but you allow yourself to wonder when Theseus will notice that you're gone.

----

On Monday you call in sick. You've never called in sick once in your entire time at the Ministry, so your request for a sick day is accepted easily and without complaint.

You sleep the whole day and do not answer the door when you hear the knocks. Knowing who they belong to is agonizing enough. He'd never been to your place before, but you can't imagine that it was difficult for him to procure the address.

You wake from your day of fitful, restless sleeping around 2am. Moonlight streams cold and bright through your chiffon curtains, filling your apartment with blue and silver shadows that you find comforting, beautiful maybe.

When you pad out into your living room, barefoot, you see a letter on the hardwood floor. A creamy envelope that had been slipped under the doorframe, waiting there for you like magic.

You bend down to pick it up and open it. There's nothing on the envelope itself, but you'd know him by handwriting alone, by his breathing, his scent.

Dear Y/N,

I know you're not sick. Because you're never sick. You have the most formidable immune system I've ever come across and I think muggle doctors should study you in a lab for it. But, I confess, that's beside the point...

I know you're cross with me. Please, if I have upset you or, worse, if I've broken your heart, I can assure you it was never my intention. Meaning: if I hurt you it is because I am a fool, and not because you are deserving of any hurt.

Forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I needed to resolve some things, and Leta's arrival was a true shock for me. I behaved poorly to you, but even more unforgivably to Leta, who I left mere weeks before our wedding, confessing my love for another woman. The pain I've caused her haunts me, and I was happy to be absolved of it yesterday evening. Happy to answer her questions and to be forgiven. But I should not have left you there alone. I should not have let go of your hand. I damn myself, because as much as I love you, it seems I've never been able to do it well.

I hope this pitiful explanation and guileless apology will suffice. Come, pretty girl. Come to work tomorrow, I beg you. My whole life is on the floor without you, nothing works, my head's a mess.

Yours,

You heart clenches painfully. Your lungs constrict and your hand tightens around the letter. You love him. You want to let it go, what happened between him and Leta, and you and him, in the clearing.

But you can't.

----

Apparently, it's going to be a week of first-times. Because, also for the first time in your career at the Ministry, you are running late.

"Fuck," you hiss to yourself. You hate traveling by Floo Flame, are used to the muggle comforts of walking and the London Underground, but you don't have time.

You dust off the fireplace ash from your shoulders as you walk through the British Ministry.

"Y/N!" you hear. The voice slices through the bustle and noise of the suit-clad workers not with its volume but with its familiarity.

It's him.

'Oh, god. Already?' You'd been hoping to avoid Theseus today. An impossible task, considering he was your boss, but you'd taken on more impossible tasks before. Bigger monsters.

"Y/N, hold on!" Theseus shouts again.

You have to speed up your walking to a near-comical pace to escape his long-legged strides. Hard to do in heels.

You turn your body sideways and push forward through a thicket of office workers with an "Excuse me! So sorry!" to shoulder your way into an empty elevator.

You slump against the back wall, exhaling deeply in relief. No Theseus-encounter after all. You really managed to-

"Aha!" Theseus exclaims, interjecting his overstretched hand just as the elevator doors begin to close. "Perfect. I was just looking for you, Y/N."

You don't respond, but huff in indignation and move aside, making room for him in the small elevator. He presses your floor number, level two, looking far too self-satisfied for someone who just ran across the marble floors of the Ministry of Magic, unrepentantly.

Your heart pounds as the elevator begins to move, you don't know why you can't look at him. Maybe it's because you know, if you did, all would be forgiven. You jolt when he leans forward and pulls the emergency break. The elevator comes to a jerking, screeching halt.

When he looks at you, sidelong, your stomach flips.

"C'mere," he mumbles, and moves to trap your body against the wall.

Your body responds differently than your mouth, arching against the wall, pushing closer to him.

"Ugh, no," you say, mournfully. You want it bad, want him. But you're still angry. It's oddly possessing, the notion that just a kiss from him could save you.

Your words do give him pause, however. He's standing so close to you he basically has you up against the wall, there's no escaping him. His chest heaves, you can feel his breath against your face. You want to press his open mouth to yours, to taste it, open yours to his tongue.

"No?" He echoes dubiously. "Did... did you not get my letter?"

"I got your letter," you retort, feeling flustered. "I found it... insufficient."

He starts forward again, a hand cups your ass. You slap it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible.

"I can't," he groans.

"Try harder."

"I am rational and measured about all things in life, except for this, for you."

"Try harder," you say again, more forcefully, ignoring him.

"Hmm," he hums, considering. You don't move this time when his hand traces your thigh through the material of your skirt, you just stare, mesmerized. Your skin breaks out in chills. His fingertips move in lazy, dancing circles.

His hands, his fucking hands. They're so big. Long, elegant fingers with large knuckles. The veins there, the fact that you know what his fingers feel like inside of you...

Theseus follows your gaze with his eyes and scoffs, but not unkindly.

"You want my fingers inside of you, baby?"

He doesn't wait, and when you don't protest he doesn't stop. His hands slide under your skirt, one of his thumbs is pressing firmly against your clit through the lacy material of your underwear. He applies such a steady, unmoving pressure, staring into your eyes relentlessly and leaning his thumb harder and harder into that one spot until you squirm back against the wall with a ragged moan, breaking his burning gaze, not sure if you're more desperate to escape the sensation or to keep feeling it, over and over again.

"Theseus," his name sounds filthy out of your mouth, heady as a moan, though you're actually trying to tell him something. "Really, I just-"

The elevator lurches forward again, shuddering in place for a few moments before resuming its path with a piercing screech. You tumble into Theseus, losing your balance, and he catches you with both his arms.

"What did-"

"I don't know," he says, helping you right yourself, looking over his shoulder at the doors.

The elevator stops at level six, the Department of Magical Transportation. Your face is still flushed red and tingling with heat when the ornamental brass doors slide open and the two of you are greeted by a curious, gawking group of wizards that includes the department head, Mr. Silas Elodius.

"Oh, heavens! Mr. Scamander, it's you," Silas Elodius is a unfailingly happy, plump man. "We were wondering what must've happened! It seemed the two of you got stuck. Well, all sorted now!" He laughs heartily. "Trust our department to get you moving again."

Theseus returns the laugh, a little less enthusiastically. The both of you move against the back wall of the elevator to allow the large group to shuffle in.

"Excuse us, we're headed to level three," Silas smiles wildly, toothily. He tends to talk through his smiling, which makes his next admission all the more horrific. "Terrible accident involving a misplaced potion bottle on the Knight Bus! Boom! Limbs lost. Really nasty business."

"Erm," Theseus seems shaken, at a loss of how to respond, which is uncommon for him. "We'll be level two."

"Right, of course!" Mr. Elodius motions impatiently for one of his several colleagues to press the button. With the combined weight of everyone there, the elevator moves slowly, dragging sluggishly upwards through space. Thankfully, the group does not turn back to you or Theseus, preoccupied with their own small conversations.

Your heart is still thumping pitifully, your pussy still throbbing and aching around nothing, craving his fingers, stuffed inside. You're wet, and there is no relief in sight. But you still want, need, to be mad at him.

"Y/N," Theseus is leaning in, speaking so low that only you can hear him. The sound of your name in his mouth, it's a purr, a plea.

You shudder. "Theseus, please don't."

"If this were my office," he whispers. His hand returns to the front of your skirt, slips beneath the hemline and nudges your underwear aside, slides up, embarrassingly easily, between your slick folds. You lean back against the wall in silent prayer, for him. You're frozen, incapable of moving, incapable of telling him to stop.

"If this were my office," he continues, voice thick and ragged. His finger moves leisurely, pumping in and out, driving you crazy. "I'd have you on my desk with your legs up. And I'd lick you until you cried. I bet you're such a pretty crier. I wanna make you come on my mouth, my tongue."

It takes everything in you to remain quiet, to remain still. Just as you begin to lose yourself in the feeling, your head going pleasantly fuzzy, the elevator dings and he retracts his hand, smoothly, unfussily.

He looks so unaffected, leaning back against the wall. It's you who has to bow your head to avoid Mr. Elodius's eyeline. Your knees tremble.

"Well, this is us! Best of luck, Scamander." Mr. Elodius waits for his people to file out of the elevator before departing.

Theseus salutes him with two fingers, in a charmingly youthful way.

When the doors close again you've recovered more of yourself, your wits.

"Where were we?" He corners you again, kissing the side of your neck.

"I'm mad at you, Theseus." You don't stop him from kissing your neck, but you grip his wrist, haltingly hard, when it starts to reach under your skirt again.

"Mm," he hums against your throat, noting the way you expose more of it, craning it for his access. "No, you're not."

With a nip of his teeth, he extracts a whine and a tremor down your legs. You imagine his hands, his beautiful big hands, coming around your throat, squeezing, applying pressure there until you go light-headed. You want to be choked by him. You want to get down on your knees in this elevator and unbuckle his belt and take him into your mouth until he's the one who is needy and whining, wanting it bad, moaning and praising you, calling you a good girl.

The elevator dings for the final time and you have to physically push him off of you. He falls back without a fight.

"Our floor," you say, trying to make your expression into something like a glare. You're not very good at resenting him.

For a moment you're not sure what he's going to do to you. It's scandalizing and rousing, the idea that he might grab you, touch you anyway. The look in his eyes is black and beyond hungry, sapped of all restraint. He gulps and clenches his jaw. Blinks at last.

Ever the gentleman.

"Of course, after you," Theseus says. He motions for you to walk ahead of him.

You stomp off to your shared office, trying pathetically to fix your skirt and your hair and any other part of you that looks disheveled.

When he comes into his office behind you and closes the door, latching the lock, he looks equally undone. Vulnerable almost. It's not only that he needs you, which he does, but that he wants to make it okay and doesn't know how.

"Y/N," he makes a vague, defenseless gesture, throwing up his arms weakly, and sighs. "I don't.... How can I make it right? How can I make it up to you?"

It's a cheerless, pitiful noise, your responding laugh.

"Don't worry, Theseus. I got your letter. And besides, I manage my hopes quite well on my own."

"I wish you wouldn't. Don't."

You scoff.

"No, it's my fault for hoping for more from you. You're asking me to, what, put my faith in the world?" You know your tone is sharper than intended, and your expression is that of a burned woman, hardened and jaded.

But he doesn't hold it against you. You try not to flinch away when he steps forward and brings a hand up to your face, to your cheek.

"No, I'm asking you to put your faith in me."

You could cry at this tenderness he's affording you.

"I just," you gently place your hand over his and lower it from your face. "I just can't believe that you don't feel anything for her. I can't shake the way I felt watching you leave me, without a second glance."

Your voice breaks on the last word. You're admitting more than you bargained for. Admitting that this is the way you've felt your entire life. The orphanage, your parents, every adult who promised to help you, to save you, and didn't. It was too familiar of a pain for it to hurt as badly as it did, being left behind.

"Leta, she... I don't know what you mean," he says, shaking his head.

“Theseus, I'm not stupid! I saw the way you went after her! The way you left me behind, it was like I ceased to exist. You obviously still have feelings for her—"

“I have feelings for you!" He raises his voice in frustration, and it startles you. "She’s the one I left behind, for you.”

You feel so worked up, so overheated. You don't want to be fighting with him, not now, not ever.

"I-I don't believe you-"

"Y/N, you are essentially calling me a liar right now. I don't know what else I can say to make you believe it, you act as if I took off with her and kissed her-"

"You didn't have to! You already have been for the last two years, Theseus!" Your hands are wavering, your bottom lip too. "I don't believe you because, if it's true what you told me, about you leaving her for me, why didn't you act in the months after?! You proposed to Leta mere months after dating, but for the months you were single you didn't try to-"

"I was your boss, Y/N! I was trying to be a good man, a good friend!" He rakes a hand through his hair roughly.

"So I'm just supposed to believe that you left your fiancée to live a life as my friend? To continue working with me like-"

“I apologize if that’s too difficult for you to believe, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.” His tone is brusque, almost business-like.

It's like a shot to the heart. His lack of understanding, lack of seeing.

“Too difficult for me to believe? Me?!” You’ve never raised your voice at him like this, every word is straining out of you, painfully. Any semblance of control you had is unspooling, rapidly. “Theseus, my second month here I was offered a position as an Auror, my dream job, what I’d worked so hard for at school, and I turned it down to keep being your assistant! I turned it down to keep living a life in your shadow. I thought that if I could make myself smaller for you I could-"

You can’t continue, the tears rise up in a saltwater tide in your lungs. You turn your head away, quick, so he doesn’t see your face break.

"Y/N," he says, gentle, broken. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Maybe you didn't want to know. I... I know you desire me, Theseus. I'm sorry, at one point I thought I could just sleep with you, and I wouldn't need anything more, but.... Oh, god, I'm sorry."

You rub at your eyes aggressively, even as the tears continue to fall, in a self-conscious and fruitless display.

He looks so lost, looks like he very badly wants to comfort you, to hug you, but no longer knows if he's allowed to.

"Y/N, I can recommend you for promotion, I can-"

"It's fine, Theseus. I made my decision and I've lived with it. There are no open positions right now anyway, the post was filled."

It's silent for long enough that the quiet no longer hangs there like an awful, third body between you. You regain your composure, the tears pass and give way to a hollow feeling.

"Y/N," Theseus speaks at last. He's standing across his office still, but the look in his eyes is so full of longing and yearning, he could've been across a train platform, a crowded room, a continent. "I have not been doing this right. I should've asked you to be my girlfriend a long time ago, I know. For that I am ashamed. But..."

He licks his lips and inhales sharply, trying to find the words.

"Y/N, please don't accuse me of lusting after you. What I feel for you is nothing so shallow as lust. Yes, I want to be inside you all the time, but that's because being close to you, this," he steps forward and places a cold hand against your chest demonstratively, below your neck, skin to skin, "This isn't close enough."

You look up into his seaglass eyes, your heart in tatters. Him, it's always been him.

"I miss you when I'm with you," he says. "I love you, I've told you before and I'll tell you again and again, but it's up to you to believe it, sweetheart."

When you still don't say anything, can't find the words, he looks crestfallen, closes his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asks you, opening them.

And you can't answer. To love him freely? To feel held and chosen by him? To live your dreams and relinquish your past without shame or grief or hesitation? Before you begin to say anything at all, the words building and budding at the back of your throat like a flower about to bloom, a knock sounds at the door.

Theseus closes his eyes and sighs, pained.

"Theseus-"

"I have to go," he says tersely. "I've been gone with my brother for too long. The department heads have called me in for questioning. I don't know when I'll be out."

You nod, swallowing.

He looks at your face, a look of determination settling on his.

"I promise to make it right."

----

It's past closing time and Theseus still has not returned from the depths of whatever secret, dim-lit corner of the Ministry they took him to for questioning. All day you've spent heartlessly filling out paperwork, finishing up your research assignments, stewing in anxiety.

Please, keep him safe. You think to no one in particular. Please.

You reluctantly leave the office, hoping to find him in the Atrium. You sit there glumly at the edge of the fountain, shooting periodic glances towards the elevators and the staircases, hoping to see him emerging from the Department of Mysteries, maybe, or the Courtrooms. Even the paper missives, usually magicked into airplane and bird shapes, have stopped flying overhead in the Atrium. The Ministry is emptying out, there's hardly any foot traffic at all.

You feel as though you handled everything, your insecurities and emotions, so artlessly, so recklessly in your last conversation. You are aching to make it better.

Eventually, you walk back to level two in a daze, pushing through the heavy oak door to the Aurors Offices with all the attention of a sleepwalker, your mind elsewhere.

You nearly trip on the house elf in front of the door when you stumble into Theseus's office. The elf grumbles in discontent.

House elves? Your shared office is hardly recognizable. Half-cleaned out, three Ministry house elves are busy at work, boxing and taping and scrubbing the furniture and shelves clean. Your stomach lurches.

Theseus. Where are all his things? Was he found out? Arrested?

Your voice sounds like a stranger's to your ears, so transformed by sheer panic.

"Hello, excuse me!" You say to one of the house elves. He looks over in open disdain, though you can't blame him, seeing as you almost crushed him just now. "Hi, yes, what is going on? What are you doing with Mr. Scamander's things? I'm his assistant."

"Mr. Scamander," the elf drawls, setting aside his mop bucket with a melodramatic thunk and splash. "No longer works here."

The elf tries to turn back to his work when you lunge forward and grasp him by the shoulder. He looks at your hand on him in abject shock.

"Please!" You beg, falling to your knees to better convince the house elf. "I need to know what's happened to him, it's important."

"Nothing has happened to him, miss. He turned in his letter of resignation an hour or so ago!" The elf shakes you off of him, none too gently.

He gestures rudely to the two, untouched pieces of paper laid out on the desk. Everything else has been cleared.

You snatch up the nearest page with a shaking hand, eyes racing over the words.

It's from the heads of your department, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it confirms what the elf told you. Theseus gave up his position and designated you as the one he desired to fill the post. The Aurorship is yours.

The letter requested that you complete a trial period of one month, as it was unheard of for a witch with no Auror experience to take up the Head Auror post. But they were amenable if the trial period went well. These were dark days, recruits were scarce and few other Aurors were jumping to fill the position. Your confirmation meeting with the department heads was to be after work, at 7pm.

It's nearly that time now.

You blink at the words on the page, astounded and a bit shell-shocked.

You're hardly thinking at all when you pick up the second letter, hands moving with an automaton, detached fluidity.

Dearest Y/N,

The questioning did not go well. I had to act quickly, darling. I was thinking only of you.

Take the Head Auror position and be safe and happy forever. Blamelessly, and knowing you are loved.

Or, meet me at King's Cross Station tonight, at 7:15pm. If you'll have me, if you love me. I'm joining the fight against Grindelwald, for good. I'm meeting my brother and the others at Hogsmeade.

I am horrified that you ever put me over your dreams, and that I gave you so little in return for it. If I could turn back time, I would've done it all differently. I would've made you mine.

My love, you couldn't answer me when I asked you what you wanted today, so I wanted to give you this choice now.

It did not make much sense for me to stay at the Ministry. They were suspicious of me from the start, war hero or not, because of my relation to Newt. You could do wonderful things, have so much more influence than I could. There were no other open Auror positions for you to take but mine, but I can give you this one part of my life, easily. God knows I'd give you the rest if you asked.

I cannot promise your safety, or your happiness, but I can promise to love you, as I do now, as I always have, no matter what you decide. My heart is yours alone. All you have to do is reach out and take it.

Yours,

Theseus

Reading the words on the page, feeling your own breath suck in and whoosh out of your lungs, hearing it, it's all so surreal.

Your heart flutters meekly, wounded at either prospect. But you want to choose yourself. Who has ever chosen you? You need to be on your own side this time.

You glance at the clock and curse. You shouldn't have spent so much time waiting in the Atrium, floating about the Ministry.

"I can't go, I won't go," you decide. "It's too late anyway."

Who knew if you'd even be able to have a real relationship with him? Even if you believed his love for you, and that he was over Leta, and somehow overcame the horrors and traumas of your life that you hadn't begun to confront... who knew if it would work? That would be its own, new, excruciating pain, having loved and it still not being enough...

"I'm staying," you think to yourself. "I am. He doesn't know what he's asking of me, he doesn't really know me at all. I'm staying. I'm taking the position."

At first you thought the words to convince yourself, reaffirm and reinforce. But they don't sound as improbable as you thought. This happiness doesn't sound too good to be true, it sounds as if it could belong to you after all.

You sigh, trembling, and begin to go through the empty drawers of Theseus's old desk, imagining your life, or trying to.

You reach for the bottommost drawer, pulling it open.

The sight of the worn little clothbound book snags your vision like a thorn. You pull it out in a trancelike state and read the title: Garden Parting by P. M. Kipling. The memory rises without you even having to reach for it, like a face in water.

-----

One Year Ago

It was only your fourth week at the office. This bloody idiot named Henry Ludgate somehow came to the insane conclusion that if he talked to you enough, or talked at you, more fittingly, you would like him back. So every one of your lunch breaks, without fail, he'd come searching for you in the Atrium to talk your ear off about nothing at all.

At the present moment, he was trying to strike up a conversation about women's shoewear, a hard topic for even far better conversationalists.

"I actually do like flat shoes, or 'flats,' are they? But I only like the ones with a bit of heel, all the other types of flats are terribly unattractive I think."

You were dimly aware of your boss, Theseus Scamander, watching this all unfold with a lackadaisical amusement. He was leaning against a newsstand of The Daily Prophet pretending to read it, but really you knew his sly smile at the front page was for you.

"So, not flats?"

"Sorry?" Henry always jumped at the excuse of poor hearing to lean uncomfortably close to you.

You rolled your eyes, not caring if Henry saw or not.

"If the flats you say you like have heels, doesn't that make them not 'flat shoes'?" You asked curtly.

Henry stared at you dumbly. "Oh, right. So it's 'heels' I like then."

You flicked your gaze up to his, irritably.

"So how many pairs do you own, then?"

You thought you saw a rustle of paper in the corner of your vision--undoubtedly Theseus was choking back some fit of laughter.

Henry attempted to clear his throat but only seemed to choke, rubbing a half-fist on his chest touchily.

"What?! Pardon me, not for myself!" He was veritably red in the face, not pink or any subtle, healthy flush, but bright red. "I-I meant I like heels on women, on you."

You could barely tamp down your frustration. This was supposed to be a restful lunch break, a good hour of no-work, and yet you seemed to enjoy your actual work more than this (for many reasons, the first reason beginning with the letter T and the last reason being the way the first reason smiled at you whenever you said something bright, or funny, or kind. He had a smile like light cracking open the sky at dawn, it so completely transformed the rest of his face, always reaching his eyes).

"Henry," you sighed, indulgently, maybe a bit patronizingly. "As much as I am grateful for your... fashion tips, and your riveting conversation, I really do prefer to read on my lunch breaks. I'll have to excuse myself."

You turned on your heel before he could protest, finding another secluded corner of the Atrium by the fountain. You pulled out the book, Garden Parting, as more of a prop, or a shield, or a comfort object, like a teddy bear. You had no intention of reading it right now. Not when...

Just as you suspected. You saw the shadow come over your shoulder, the shape of his figure, his hands in his pockets. Even that, his outline or shadow, stirred up some feeling you couldn't name in your chest, in the cavity there, next to your heart.

"Mr. Scamander," you sighed. "I really don't understand what sort of sadistic pleasure you gain from watching Ludgate torture me with mind-numbingly boring conversation."

You said this without turning, already smiling. Theseus sat down beside you, gingerly, beaming.

"It's entertaining," he said. The deep rumble of his voice was pleasant. "The way you eviscerate him. It's my favorite part."

There was something so attractive about the tilt of his eyes, hooded, and the curl of his hair, a strand falling loose over his forehead. He brought his bottom lip under his teeth, bit down and squinted at you.

"Do you really prefer to read on your breaks, Y/N?"

You scoffed, mock-offended.

"Yes! Do you really read The Daily Prophet on yours?"

"No, not at all," he admitted, shamelessly and with a boyish smile. "What are you reading?"

You suddenly felt self-conscious. You almost didn't want to show him. Your book was soft and worn, the cloth corners frayed, the text on the front half chipped off.

Against your instinct and your nature, you found yourself reluctantly handing him the book. Your mortification increased tenfold when he didn't take it from your extended hand, he only stared at it unreadably.

"What-" you began.

"Wait," Theseus turned to his suitcase, set it down on the tiled floor beside the fountain and clicked open the latches. "Garden Parting by P.M. Kipling, right?"

He was speaking so excitedly, shuffling around in his suitcase.

'No way,' you thought, and then, because you couldn't help it:

"Oh, you're kidding," you gasped. "No, Theseus! You're kidding. I swore I was the only person in London with a copy."

Theseus pulled it out at last, victorious. A sleek hardcover, newer than yours, but creased from frequent reading.

"Oh, Theseus!" You brought your hands up to your mouth. You were always worried your emotions, especially excitement, would make it harder to be taken seriously at work. You endeavored to dampen and mute them, but you could not hide your girlish elation at this inexplicable commonality between the two of you.

He smiled at your reaction, a slow, warm smile.

"Who knew you had a secret affinity for muggle literature?" You tried to make your tone teasing and demeaning but couldn't commit to it, you were too surprised by the force of your own joy.

"My roommate at Hogwarts was muggleborn. He gave it to me."

"You carry it with you too?" You asked, still in disbelief.

"Everywhere!" It was a breathy admission, half a laugh, earnest. "I like to reread certain parts. It doesn't get old." He was smiling so big it was almost heart-wrenching, you did not think he had ever looked at you like that, eyes blazing with naked enthusiasm. Looking at you like you were holding some key, to what you didn't know.

"No one seems to know about it," he continued with a shrug. "I've been waiting for someone to talk with about this book since I was sixteen."

"Oh," you kept saying. You wondered if he thought you sounded stupid for it, or if he thought it was endearing. "There's this one part I think about almost every day. In the purple glass house, with the broken arm used to-"

"-To praise God and 'be done with it'?" He finished for you.

Then miraculously, he flipped his copy open, paper fluttering, to a sole, underlined paragraph. The very same.

"It's like we're speaking the same language," He whispered with an incredulous laugh, but his eyes were reverent.

You flashed him a smile, one that was glowing and real. You were holding his copy of the book between you now, like children with a shared toy, or like lovers reading a roadmap.

"What language? English?" You asked sarcastically, making a funny face.

But you had known what Theseus meant. What wavelength of sense that you two, alone, could access. How the world spoke to you both in the same ways, through the same channels of meaning.

Garden Parting was the only object you had from your deceased parents, the only thing that survived your childhood. It was a children's chapter book that your father used to read to you, quite a grim piece of magical realism about a lot of things, but mostly about a girl condemned to go back to her burning house and stay there, inside, until the flames went out. There's no question that it will be swallowed whole, that she will burn to death in the place she was born.

When Theseus spoke again his eyes were shining, perceptively.

"Is that you then?" His voice was subdued, made gentle, intentionally. His eyes looked strangely dark inside the black stone interior of the Ministry, blue like river slate, dim like rain. "The main character, that's you?"

It was the most you'd ever revealed. It was a single, quiet word.

"Yes," you said.

Theseus placed a hand on your forearm. You didn't dare move, react, for fear he would stop touching you. A bird on your windowsill.

"I'll be the great owl then," he said. "The one that takes her away at the end.... Or Reggie, the one that's her friend. Whatever you want."

You laughed, bleakly. You felt pressured to speak, nonsense, anything to cover up how much his words meant to you.

"Really," you said. "It's my favorite book, but sometimes I can hardly get through it, there's so much pain in her life. I get so anxious..."

"Here," Theseus plucked a ribbon from his suitcase and flipped open your copy of the book. He placed the ribbon strategically towards the back, surgically almost, his long fingers lining it up with the interior spine, right in the scene where the owl takes the girl away and there's happiness set aside for her in life, after all.

"I'll mark it with this," he said. Neither of you were looking at each other anymore, the moment was too intimate to bear. But you were both thinking of each other, talking to each other. "So you can remember how it ends."

-----

The memory of that day by the fountain is so unexpected that it is the first time you're remembering it at all.

'Maybe he does know me after all, does see me.'

The thought is a shattering one.

'Oh, god.'

You check the time. It's 6:50pm. You pull on your coat and snatch your purse off the desk. If you leave now, right now, you can intercept him.

Theseus has to know you're coming. Even if you don't make it onto the train, he has to see your face on the platform, through the window, even. He has to know that you're choosing him.

You apparate as far as you're able and begin to run towards the station the rest of the way.

You're coming for him, each pounding step you're coming, heart soaring, this is that freeing love that grows and grows and stretches out into space like air. And you're going to tell him everything, every wish and every nightmare, you're going to--

A hand shoots out and pulls you backward by the neck. The grip is so hard that you taste blood, everywhere, in your mouth.

You yelp but the sound is lost as you are torn through the air, choking through space. Being forcibly apparated always feels like choking, like being pushed down a flight of stairs repeatedly. You can't catch your breath or your footing, you don't know where you're being taken.

Dark material whooshes and cuts around you. You hardly feel a thing.

Could someone at the Ministry have seen the letters left on your desk? Read them? Were you and Theseus positively identified at the gala in Berlin, or maybe outside the mausoleum? Before you've even arrived at your captor's destination, your mind whirls helplessly, to Grindelwald, to the situation at hand, and then, finally, to Theseus, who is waiting at Platform 9 3/4 for a girl who will never arrive, for a girl he will assume is telling him "no."

It happened so fast you didn't even have the time to turn around, to touch your wand. You were apparated away, stolen into thin air, before you could even set foot inside the station.

---

part four here

authors note: yeah i did watch the last letter from you lover on netflix and YEAH it did inspire this fic and rewire my brain at the same time. SORRY this fic ended on a cliffhanger and was so long!! we just had a LOT of ground to cover, but the subsequent parts should be back to the normal length!!

i like writing a mix of smut and romance plot but let me know if you prefer one to the other (also garden parting isn't a real book if that wasn't obvious) OK BYYEEE love you thanks so much for all the replies and feedback :))

also i have yet to read through this for typos so maybe! come back in a day or so for the final version?

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

#theseus scamander smut #theseus scamander #theseus #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x reader #fantastic beasts #fbawtft #hp fanfic #hp fic

681 notes · View notes

nyoomiin · 2 months

Text

roommates: part three.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

“Me?” the boy asks hesitantly, glancing toward his companion for help.

Niwa — right, that was his name — laughs, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and pushing him forward. “You're scaring him, my dear.”

You roll your eyes at your friend, then give the boy another cursory once-over. You were right. He'd be perfect for the garment you were designing. Beckoning him over, you grin at him as you lead him into your fitting room. “I have just the thing for you! Let me take your measurements first, then I'll tailor the clothes to fit. Niwa, I'll give you a discount only because you brought this angel here.”

“Hah! You're the best.”

Shaking your head with a fond smile, you turn toward the boy. He looked nervous, fiddling with the hem of his sleeves, but no matter — it was time to get to work.

You blink, rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to clear your mind, trying to recall the dream you just had. Yet try as you might, it slips from your grasp, the faint trace of nostalgia slipping away with the breeze.

It was blue, you think.

And that's when inspiration struck.

"It's perfect,” you murmur, holding up the finished product in your hands.

A soft, silky shawl of blues and teals, dusted with a faint shimmer — an olive branch for your roommate, so to speak. Honestly, you were getting pretty tired of him wearing the same outfit almost daily, and what better gift than one handmade?

He'd look positively angelic in it, you think. You only hope he doesn't slam the door in your face before you could give it to him. You huff. He had better like it. You hadn't rushed your commission and put all that effort into the shawl for nothing. Not to mention, the materials you used were nothing but the highest of quality. Hmph.

“What do you want?” comes his gruff response to your knock on his door.

At the very least, he wasn't outright ignoring you like he used to do a week ago. You grin, even if he can't see it. "I have something for you! It's handmade. Come and take a look at it at least. Pretty please?”

It's silent.

A minute passes, then two.

You sigh, turning away in defeat. Another day, then. Though at this rate, that day might never come at all… Well, you hadn't put in all that effort just to give up now.

"I'll leave it here by the door,” you call. Just for good measure, you give the door another rap to be sure you still had his attention. "I don't care what you do with it as long as it's not still here by tomorrow morning. Have a good night!”

You turn away to leave, but this time, it's with a petty, stubborn resolve. One way or another, he would be your friend. He had to.

(His hands ghost over the shawl, fingers trembling.

It's soft, he notes, and every thread carefully woven. The design embroidered on its edges is undeniably Sumerian, but he can tell its maker is undeniably you.

And his heart thrums, loud in his ears and suffocating in his chest. It's infuriating.

This version of you is not the same as the version of the past he had known — that he cannot refute. Yet from your smile to your needlework, down to the way you'd leave him a warm bowl of soup — how could you not be one and the same?

He sets the shawl back down into the box it had come in, only to notice a piece of paper at its bottom.

This is for you, it reads. I think we got off on the wrong start that day, so I made this for you to make up for it. I hope you like it.

He scoffs, amused at your attempts to befriend him. It had worked on him then, when he had been clueless and naive and far too trusting, but fat chance it would work on him now. You don’t even remember him, for fuck's sake.

Still, he thinks, perhaps he should indulge you just the once. For old time's sake.)

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi

#—stellaronhvnters.#scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #rlly laying it on thick there but anyway

165 notes · View notes

miinatozakiii · 9 months

Text

full of you

minatozaki sana x fem!reader ; pure fluff

summary: sleepy girlfriend, tired girlfriend, girlfriends sleepy together, girlfriends tired together.

wc: 1.1k

sana ver. of this was requested, so i had to deliver!! (i love writing for sana sm.)

a/n: i'm going to start linking songs because almost all of my works are titled by songs that fit the drabble.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ : full of you by so soo bin

the blue-light glasses you wear slide down your nose and you push them back up again, then go back to typing at your laptop.

the hours passed by in the blink of an eye, and the only thing you remembered before finishing up your work was hearing the sweet voice of your girlfriend telling you that she'd be home late. sana's "make sure you eat!" had echoed through your head, and you felt bad for drowning yourself in work instead of munching on something. it's fine, you had a big lunch anyway.

You roll your shoulders and move your neck around before sinking back into the couch, letting out a slow breath.

there's a small sound coming from where the entrance is, and your face lights up when you realize it's your girlfriend unlocking the door. your head turns to face her, you smile immediately. sana sets her bag down on the table and her grin is so bright, she rushes to the couch to lean down and kiss your lips.

"i missed you so much," sana mutters in between kisses, "i couldn't stop thinking about you."

you laugh and sana pulls away, your face is cupped in her hands as if you were the most precious thing in the world (which, you are in sana's eyes).

"i missed you too, definitely more." you grin. sana pouts playfully and kisses your nose,

"definitely not," she argues. you roll your eyes at her response and laugh. sana peeks over at your laptop screen, then smiles at the sight of you in your plaid pajama pants, loose t-shirt, and glasses. "you're still working?"

"yeah," you sigh, "finishing something for my coworker, but they'll still pay me for overtime," you add, trying to lighten up the mood. sana rubs a thumb on your cheek,

"how long have you been working?" sana questions.

"two hours now, maybe three," you respond, stretching your arms out as she pulls her hands away from your cheeks.

"did you eat?" worry and concern laced in her tone–your jaw tenses.

"i lost track of time." you shrug, "i'll eat a lot tomorrow? i already showered and brushed my teeth." and your attempt at easing her worries fails.

sana pouts and it's not her cute playful pout–it's the one that breaks your heart a bit.

"you better eat everything i cook for you tomorrow, then." sana says, though it's more of a demand and she's practically threatening you in a way. you just nod and giggle at how cute she looks,

"alright alright, now go shower, you stink." you say, but you're lying so hard because you can smell the wonderful scent of roses and citrus from that signature perfume she uses.

sana hits you with a pillow,

you laugh.

- twenty minutes pass and the feeling of someone plopping down next to you on the couch makes you jump, your shoulders move upwards. sana laughs and kisses you on the cheek; it's nice and grounding. the scent of lavender fills your nose as your girlfriend leans against your shoulder, immediately relaxing into you and sighing contently. you laugh at the way she unwinds against you and turn to kiss her head.

the only thing that fills the silent room is the click of your keyboard as you tap at it, and sana's low breathing as she cuddles against you. every couple of minutes you glance over at her, and she's been scrolling through some online clothing shop; of course, she's shopping online again. you plant kisses on her head here and there before going back to whatever project you were covering for your coworker, desperately trying to get it done quickly so you could fall asleep with your girlfriend in your arms.

a yawn escapes your lips as you type out the last line of code, and you quickly move tabs to email your coworker and your boss. sana smiles brightly as you shut down your laptop and set it down on the couch somewhere, and now you can fully focus on your girlfriend.

"done?" sana murmurs. you nod and hum, leaning back into the couch lazily and putting your arm around sana, which makes her nestle against you more. your hand gently caresses her cheek and rubs against it softly, making sana hum.

"how was dinner?" you question.

sana yawns before setting her phone down and answering. "good, good. i just got caught up with nayeon, momo, and mina. nayeon asked where you were."

"i see," you mutter softly, "sorry i couldn't make it."

"it's okay." sana assures. her eyes slowly close and her arm wraps around you, "i just missed you a lot, haven't seen you much today."

"tomorrow is saturday, we can spend all day together then."

your girlfriend yawns again and her breathing starts to settle down, "mhm, and i'll cook you breakfast." she trails off. you can tell she's getting sleepy with the way she almost slurs out her words, and how her body is completely limp against yours. your slender fingers make their way to play with her hair, running through the dark-brown strands and then making your way to massage her shoulder lightly.

sana mumbles something incoherent and you mutter a small "what?" in response, she opens her eyes just barely and you manage to make out her small request:

"carry me to the bed? sleepy…" she murmurs into your neck, closing her eyes again. you laugh at her words,

"okay lovely."

you shift over a little so your arms can pull sana onto you, and she's already clinging to you lazily. her arms wrap around your neck and her legs lock around your hips too as you stand up, she plants a small kiss behind your ear. the lightbulb that illuminates the small living room shuts off as you flip the switch, and you head into the room with your girlfriend who's clinging onto you like a koala.

sana is set down onto the mattress gently, then take off your glasses and put them on the wooden nightstand beside the bed. a groan escapes your lips as you stretch your arms out, then you rub your eyes slightly before climbing into bed with the love of your life.

the purple blanket is pulled over the two of you, and you let sana snuggle closer to your body–and you're ninety percent sure she's doing it while she's fully asleep, but it doesn't matter whether she's awake or not because you just wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer.

your eyelids get heavier with each slow, tired breath, and your eyes flutter shut.

"love you," you murmur sleepily, pressing your lips against her forehead lazily.

the two of you doze off together, and there's no place you'd rather be.

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #sana x reader #sana imagines #sana fluff #minatozaki sana

456 notes · View notes

selfloverrrrrr · 3 months

Note

YANDERE YUTA OKKOTSU!!!!

You home? ~ Yuta x female reader

So this was the 3rd request....

Context: Yuta coming back from a long mission of one month ...

Warning: smut, heavy smut, unprotected sex, yandere, noncon, dubcon, jealousy....

Masterlist

All characters are aged up/18+

Read all warnings carefully... if you don't like my stories block me not report

"Yeah miss you guys too" Yuta said. "You should take some rest now" panda said. "Yeah.... we'll meet tomorrow" Maki said. "Salmon" inumaki Said. "Okey then....bye and gn" Yuta replied and went towards his room with his bag.

Yuta's room was next to mine. He was so thankful for that. Why??? Because who wouldn't be happy when they get the next room of their love. Well we weren't dating. But Yuta likes me. My secret lover but I don't know that.

Yuta went to his room. Organized his things. Then took a shower. He was going to have dinner when he heard a knock on the door. He went up and opened the door. It was me. His eyes shined seeing me. "Hello" I said with a smile. " Oh y/n...you... Come in" he said and give me some space to come in. I came inside and he closed the door.

"how are you, Yuta senpai???" I asked. "I'm totally fine" he smiled. "Here... Take this" I hand him a sweet Box " I heard that you are coming today so I bought it" I smiled. "Awww thank you so much y/n .... I loved it" he replied and took the box and placed it on the table. "Please sit" he said. I sit on his bed and he sits infront of me.

We were chatting with each other. Suddenly something catched his attention. A pendent on my neck. Y and S written on it. He took it in his hand. " I don't remember you wearing this" he said. " Oh this... yeah... Yuji gave me this last week.... I loved it" I said. Something flashed in his eyes...anger? Jealousy? "Oh... Yuji?" He said. " Yeah" I replied. His eyes trailed from my pendent to my eyes then my lips. He put two fingers under my chin and his thumb was caressing my cheek. " I wasn't here for one damn month.... and that much already happened?" He said in a low voice. I gave him a confused look. " Tsk nevermind.... I can fix it now" he said and pulled my face towards him and kissed me. My eyes widened. I get away. "Senpai....What are you doing ??!!" I exclaimed. " Claiming something as mine... which IS mine" he said, came towards me and kissed me again.

He pushed me on his bed. Fear grabbed me by my neck. He started crawling towards me. " S-senpai... don't" I said "why not...?" He replied. I tried to get off from the bed but he grabbed me by my hair and pulled me. " Why did he gave you that heart shaped pendent???? And why did YOU wore this???" He said. " Yuta senpai ...please stop" I begged but he grabbed the necklace, pulled it and threw it on the floor. crashed his lips on mine. This time Kissing me roughly. Making me breathless.

He started undressing me. I tried to stop him but my strength was nothing for him. He almost took off my clothes. I was just left in my panties. Yuta started licking my nipple. His was so teasing. I moaned. He continued his teasing licking and sucking on my nipple. With his one hand he grabbed my other boob and squeezed it roughly. I scremed so loudly. " you don't know.... how much I waited for this!!!"

When he was done playing with my nipples and boobs he got up and started taking off my panties. " Senpai please...." I begged again. "Shhh... You are wet... lemme help you." he said with his smirk. He bring his face close to my pussy and licked it. "Ummmmmmm..... heaven~" he whispered to himself.

He took off his clothes. His huge length was out now. My eyes widened at his length. It was too long and too thick. He grabbed his dick stroked it two or three times then line it with my entrence. I began to panic. I knew it wouldn't fit." Yuta senpai.... please no .... senpai please no... I'm begging you!!!" I begged him. " Are you still thinking about Yuji??????" he screamed and tears started falling from my eyes.

Yuta pushed his whole length in one slide and I scremed with pain. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was screming loudly. His huge dick was giving me too much pain. He started giving me hickeys on my neck and chest. His thursting getting faster and harder. My whole body was shaking. He was moaning too. The way his dick was touching my g-spot make my back arch. It didn't take much time and I came. As I came that smirk again played on his lips.

I felt his dick started throbbing inside me. " Senpai please...not....not inside" I begged in a whisper because I didn't have the power to speak. It was too much for me. When my warm walls clenched around him he moaned loudly. In a few minutes he came inside me. He slowly pull out and threw him beside me. He bring his face closer to mine and whispered....

" now I'm satisfied to claim the thing as mine which is mine.... And don't think about Yuji.... He isn't even strong...he can't protect you... I can.... So do accept that you are mine. You love me.... your favourite senpai....or else.... you know very well ~"

Masterlist

Hope you liked it

Give me your requests...

I love when you give me your requests<3

162 notes · View notes

chrisevansleftpeck · 1 year

Text

Family Snuggles

Word Count: 777

Content Warnings: mention of wine, nothing else just pregnancy fluff.

DAD SPENCE

Wine night at Rossi’s. Shit. Normally wine night at Rossi’s was good, well, mostly the aftward when you and Spencer drove home and had some of your own tipsy fun. But now, it was just about the worst thing that could’ve been scheduled. Rossi hadn’t called for wine and pasta night in months and of course, once you’re pregnant, he wants everyone over.

You sifted through your side of the closet, looking for a dress or dressy pants and blouses of sorts. You decided on a silky olive-green dress, one that was form-fitting which wasn’t a problem for you yet because you were only about four weeks pregnant.

It was a little tight around your waist, but it still worked. Spencer froze in the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom for a moment, watching you admire the dress around you in the standing mirror. “Can I say that you look maybe even hotter while pregnant?” Spencer asked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hmm. Thank you. You don’t look too bad either.” You looked at Spencer behind you in the mirror. He was wearing a cute black blazer with a plain button-up underneath it and normal black dress pants. Pretty much what he wore to work minus a vest. And damn he looked hot as always.

“At what point tonight do you think I can unbutton this shirt?” You turned around, placing your hands on his chest and running them up to his neck.

“After Rossi’s.” He said sternly with a smile. You threw your head back with a groan. “You're still trying to put off telling them you’re pregnant.”

You frowned, arms around his neck with Spencer’s hands relaxed on your waist. “It’s not that I don’t want them to know-”

“I know, baby. You’re just nervous.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

You sighed, relaxing in his kiss. “How are you not?”

Spencer walked you over to the bed, sitting you down so he could put your shoes on for you. He slid you into your fancy black flats. “Well for one, I’m not the pregnant one. And two, I’m not quite sure how much it’s hit me yet, I guess. I’m very busy taking care of you and your supplements and the doctor appointments that I haven’t really just sat with you or talked to the baby in your stomach. Maybe I’m distracting myself.”

Spencer finished the sentence quietly as he analyzed himself. He lightly touched your right foot, sliding the last shoe on. “You enjoy those ankles before they bloat.” Spencer laughed a little, up and sitting beside you. “Hey, I have an idea before we go to Rossi’s.” You say, Spencer nodding.

You scooted towards the headboard, laying down on the bed. Because the dress was form fitting, your very small bump was easier to see. “We’re napping?” Spencer asked, confused.

“No, come here.” You pulled him close, resting his head on your chest and placing his hand on your bump. “Family snuggles.” You whispered, feeling Spencer brush his thumb over your belly gently.

“Wow.” Spencer whispered, all choked up but you couldn’t tell with his eyes on your belly. “I love you.” He whispered, placing a small kiss on the bump, leaving a little tear drop on your dress.

You scratched the back of Spencer’s head, soothing him however you could. It was very real to him. Surreal at that. “I’m so excited, Spencer.” You said, letting him rest his head on your stomach, his face towards you. “Two to three more weeks we can hear its heartbeat.”

“I’m going to listen to it all the time.” Spencer laughed, inhaling deeply as he stood up. He loved intimate moments but they always caught up to him afterward. He exhaled, closing his eyes. You met him standing and gave him a small kiss.

“We can listen to it as much as you want. We also get an ultrasound tomorrow.” You remind him.

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Crap, right. Three pm. I almost forgot. I need to work on my list of questions.”

You let go of Spencer, making your way to the front door as he followed you. “Oh god, Spencer. Don’t bother those poor nurses.”

“They should’ve picked a different profession if they don’t like being asked questions.” He replied sassily, holding the door open for you.

You rolled your eyes at him, watching him lock the door behind the two of you. You couldn’t wait to turn that guest room into a nursery. You couldn’t wait to be a mom. You couldn’t wait to have Spencer Reid’s kid.

#spencerreid #spencer reid #fanfiction #fluff #cute #domestic fluff #dadspence #dad!spencer #criminal minds #criminalminds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff

1K notes · View notes

octuscle · 7 months

Note

I was walking around and noticed a shop I never recognised. I think it was called CHAVTF. Should I go in?

CHAVTF? I can highly recommend it. Great selection of cool gear and competent and very courteous service. Tyler has a good eye for what suits your type. You can really trust him without reservation.

When you enter CHAVTF, it's very busy. All cabins are occupied. And the fellow you suspect is Tyler is obviously very busy. Nevertheless, he asks you how he can help you. You tell him that you were advised to ask for Tyler, that you need advice. "Mate, I'm Tyler. But call me Ty. What's your name, friend?" You reply that your name is Darren. "Daz, that's nice! you're not uh minute early. Can you grab da size xl camouflage tracksuit from storage for da fellow in locker room 4?" You answer "Sure thing" and go into storage. Fuck, how do you know where the warehouse is. But the tracksuits are cool. You'll have to try that one on later, too. You go to locker room 4 and hand the tracksuit through the curtain. Tyler asks you to check out the customers at the cash register. He will mark up the prices of the new stuff for a while.

The store is really running like clockwork today. There must be five or six scallies in line at the register. Sucks when you can't take care of the fellows the way you want to. You would have liked to help one or two of them change. Ty comes over, gives you a fistbump and says you're a lifesaver. Thank you for supporting him. He didn't expect so many customers. But then he says with a grin that you should better not serve here in your silly preppy clothes. You laugh and ask him what he expects when he calls you up from coffee at your parents' house and brings you into the store. Ty asks when your dad started placing value on that sort of thing. The last time you were there for dinner, he was still wearing that sweaty tank top from boxing practice. "Mate, that wasn't Sunday. Sometimes my mother gets her way, too," you reply with a grin. Ty tells you that there's a tracksuit in the social room that a customer has returned. You can put it on. Size S, should fit. Your fat pads are melting. When you put on the tracksuit, you weigh just 110 pounds at 6 feet. Skin, muscles and bones.

The next few hours are a bone-crushing job. The city is full of tourists and since there has just been money from the welfare office, all the chavs are also liquid. No idea how many steps you have walked between the warehouse, the cash register and the changing rooms. But by closing time, you've just managed three or four cigarette breaks. Ty and you take a deep breath as you lock the door at 6:00 pm. While Ty closes the register, you clean up a bit. Fuck, the place looks like a battlefield. And tomorrow you have the early shift. Then it would be cool if you could start with neat shelves and clean dressing rooms.

Ty asks you if you still want to come to the pub for a beer. You decline with thanks. You still have to train a class at your father's boxing school. Next time. Ty gives you your salary and hugs you. "See you tomorrow!" "You bet."

You are quite pleased as you wait for the train. New tracksuit, 120 pounds of extra cash and an afternoon without your parents. Sunday could have gone worse.

Pic found @scallychavlad88

#male tf #reality change #male transformation #chav tf

120 notes · View notes

moni-logues · 11 months

Text

Kintsugi 4

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 8.1k

Content: none! there is no content lmaooo nah there is just none that needs to be warned for, I don't think, so enjoy freely!!!!!

A/N: I know, I know, it's taken an age but here we are!! And I'm honestly kind of nervous to see how people react!!!! huge thank you to my betas @blog-name-idk @amethystwritesbts and @here2bbtstrash

Chapter Three | Masterlist | Chapter Five

Chapter Four – Someone Old, Someone New

The message came in shortly after lunch.

Mei.97: hey girl! Long time no see!!! I’m going to be in Seoul this week, pleeeeaaasse tell me you’re free for dinner tomorrow?!!? It’s been too long!!! Xxx

You had to read the message twice to be sure you were reading it right. You hadn’t heard from Mei—an old university friend—since your first ‘breakdown’. You wondered what on earth she could want. But you weren’t in any position to be turning down an outreached hand.

You: sure! It would be great to see you!

A few months ago, that would have been a huge lie. Now, it was only a little one. You weren’t looking forward to having to smooth over the details of your breakdown, or your break-up, but you had been close as students and it would be easier with her—she moved back to Busan after graduating, so you could put a little bit of the blame for your losing contact on that, too. You knew you weren’t quite there yet, but you felt like you were healing, you were making progress; you sometimes even felt, on occasion, pretty good about life. And you wanted to share that.

The first thing you heard upon walking into the bar you had suggested was the loud screech of your name. Then Mei was running over. You had barely even noticed her before she was wrapping her long arms around you in a huge hug. Her hair was as long and silky as it had ever been; she was still wearing the same perfume she always used to wear, and too much of it, as she always had; she looked almost exactly the same, except a little richer, a little chicer, like someone who had truly settled into themselves. She outshone the whole restaurant and looked as if she didn’t notice, as she always used to. The real world didn’t seem to have dimmed any of her at all. You were pleased with yourself that this didn’t make you completely sick with envy.

“Girl, oh my god, it is so good to see you! You look amazing! I can’t believe it; you’ve barely changed! Love the hair, though,” she announced to basically the whole bar.

You’d forgotten that she was possibly the only person in the world who was louder and talked more than you did. You’d forgotten how much you liked her. You had no need to be nervous, you realised, because it would never occur to her to judge someone; she just wasn’t that sort of person because she wouldn’t even have the time for it. She was more than just a rolling stone: this rolling stone had an engine and jet fuel.

“I ordered a bottle of wine because I wasn’t sure if you were still into the same drinks and I figured, wine is a safe option, right? You want some?” she asked but she was already pouring into your glass. “Tell me everything, babe. It has been so long. What is up?”

You took a deep breath. Where to start?

You marvelled at how painless the night had been. It was fun. Somehow, despite all the discussion you’d had about your life since university, your life now, it wasn’t painful. Not really. Mei was single, too, and courting every man in Busan before her parents tightened the screws on her to settle down. She was enjoying working for the family business (if a corporation can be called merely a ‘business’). She was earning a salary that made you wince and made her promise dinner was on her. You were doing reasonably well in your career, too, actually. You were earning enough to live in Seoul on your own. Things weren’t perfect, but Mei was such a positive and enthusiastic steam-roller that she made you feel like you were thriving, not wilting. She was exactly what you needed.

You were just wishing that she didn’t have to leave Seoul, that she could move and stay forever when she took her ice-cream spoon from her mouth and looked sheepishly at her empty bowl.

“I have a confession to make,” she began. “I had a teeny ulterior motive for asking you to dinner.”

Your stomach lurched.

“Oh?”

“You remember my cousin Sungbin? He came to visit that time at uni?”

“The one we had to carry back to your room?”

“You mean the one we had to find someone else to carry back to my room?”

“Yes!” You laughed. “Yes, I remember! How could I forget?”

He was a sweet, tall drink of water who accepted every shot and drink foisted on him by his cousin and her friends until he passed out in the bar. You and Mei had dragged him through the streets of Hongdae asking every passerby if they could help you get him home. You didn’t remember who actually helped or much of the rest of the night, but that arduous 100-meter drag was almost as painful as your hangover had been the following day.

“What about him?”

“Ok, so my uncle is retiring, right? He’s still going to be on the board but he’s retiring from his actual position so, of course, Sungbin, oldest son, he’s got to step up. He's moving to the big city, girl! Taking up a position at the HQ here. My ulterior motive is me asking you a huge favour.”

“What’s the favour?”

“He doesn’t know anyone here, right? Never lived here before. Would you maybe like, take him out for drinks or lunch or something – super casual, no big deal! – just so he’s got a friendly face? Give him some recommendations for stuff, I don’t know, just so he doesn’t feel overwhelmed and on his own?”

You didn’t really know how to feel about it. Of course, you would. Of course, you would be happy to take Sungbin out, show him around, help him if he needed. You felt flattered that Mei would even ask you, that she thought you would be up to the job. That she thought of you at all, to be honest. Had you not just been thinking that you needed new friends? And now one was landing straight in your lap.

It all felt a little too good to be true. It was too easy. Things had been too easy recently; this was just too much good, surely? You weren’t used to this. It felt wrong. Made you anxious. And, usually, that anxiety made you make things worse all on your own. But your therapist had told you to stop looking for the bad, to trust the good, appreciate its presence. You could do that. Right? You could do that.

“Yeah, sure! Of course, I can take him out.”

Mei dramatically fell to the table in relief and held tight to both your arms.

“You are an angel! Thank you! Here’s the bad part, though: any chance you can do it tomorrow? I’m leaving in the morning and he’s going to be on his own for the first time since moving-”

“Oh, he’s already here?”

“Yeah! That’s why I’m here, girly! I helped him move! Any chance you’re free tomorrow?”

You didn’t know how to say yes without letting her know that you were the sort of person who had no plans at the weekend but you didn’t want to say no because you were the sort of person who had no plans, and it would be nice to get out of the apartment. You did not look into the fact that she was asking you this last-minute, assuming you would have no plans already. You shrugged.

“Yeah, I can do drinks or something tomorrow night?”

“Babe, you are my favourite person in this whole world. I’m going to give you his number; just text him. He doesn’t know anyone here so he literally has nothing better to do and I’ve already told him I’d put you guys in touch.”

From anyone else, that might have prickled a little; the assumptions might have rubbed you the wrong way, but Mei was relentlessly optimistic, having never had any real hardship in her life (she would admit to this, too), so she had never had any reason to believe that things wouldn’t go the way she expected. Far from wanting to burst her bubble, you wanted to protect her naivety. Because you wished you could have it, too.

As you walked and subwayed and walked home, you thought about Mei and her life, and your life, and how different things could be. You wondered who you would be if you weren’t so broken, if your head could just have got its shit together—rather, if your head had never gone to shit in the first place. Would you have been like Mei? Would life have found another way to break you? Were things destined or was everyone, including the universe, just making things up as they went along?

Could you ever be like Mei? Was anyone like her? Did she have secret pain?

It wasn’t lost on you, the possibility that she wasn’t as happy-go-lucky as she seemed. The shock and surprise of everyone you knew when you ended up in hospital was almost the worst part. If you never heard someone say ‘I had no idea!’ again, it would be too soon. You thought about it a lot, how normal you were (or weren’t). You couldn’t believe that everyone else went through life not thinking the things you thought, that everyone else was somehow just able to get on with things without the sometimes-debilitating urge to sink into the floor forever.

You shook your head, because you knew you weren’t supposed to be thinking like this. You’d had a really fun time with an old friend and you were going to have a really fun time tomorrow with a new friend. That was all. There was no need to ruin it by overthinking and second-guessing.

You tapped a finger nervously on the bar as you sat on your stool. You used to come here a lot, or at least semi-frequently, but you hadn’t ventured into this part of the city since you moved out of the apartment you had shared with your ex. He got the apartment, so he got the neighbourhood, too.

You couldn’t really miss it, not on its own, because your life had changed dramatically after the break-up: you moved somewhere else, lost most of your friends, and stopped going out. This was really the only ‘out’ that you knew. And, crucially, it was close enough to Sungbin to become his neighbourhood, too. So here you were, tapping at the bar, staring at the door, trying not to gulp your drink and be drunk before he even arrived.

It was bright and hot and humid. It had rained solidly for three days and the water still hung in the air, clung to your skin, even as the sun tried its best to burn it away. You pressed your palm against your cold glass and tried to will yourself cooler without success. You already felt sticky with sweat and you didn’t know if that was entirely down to the weather, or if your nerves were also to blame.

You knew you didn’t have to be so nervous. What was the worst that could happen? Taehyung had, very patiently, talked you through it: all possible outcomes, all likely scenarios, best- and worst-case situations; he had reminded you that you were an adult human being who knew how to speak to other people. You did. You did know. But it had been a very long time since you had been in this situation. It wasn’t a date. Obviously, it wasn’t a date, but it was the closest you had got to one for many years; you were meeting a man, in a bar, alone. You didn’t know each other; you were hoping he would like you.

You took another gulp of your drink and repeated Taehyung’s words back to yourself. You reminded yourself of how good things were, ran through your gratitude list, tried to persuade yourself not to psych yourself out before the date (it was not a date! NOT. A. DATE.) had even begun.

You had turned from the door, realising how awkward it might be for you to have to stare at each other as he walked towards you and were now just glancing over your shoulder every single time you heard the door open. To stop it being awkward. You had done well to pace yourself and it was as you lifted your glass to your lips for another sip that you heard someone call your name. You turned and came face to face with a man you knew could not be Sungbin.

“Hi,” he said somewhat awkwardly as you continued to drink. “I don’t know if you remember me but I’m Mei’s cousin, Sungbin.”

You gasped as you drank and it all came out in a choke and a splutter and you were blushing and fumbling to put your glass down, find a napkin, rewind time by ten seconds. The napkin came from his hand and you took your time drying your face and hands to try to will your blushes away. You were so embarrassed you could barely look at him.

And there was so much of him to look at. This was not tiny, tall drink of water Sungbin from your university days. He was huge. He must have grown at least six inches taller, not to mention wider. His biceps were the size of thighs and his thighs were almost bursting out of his skinny jeans. You didn’t know where to look.

“You can’t be Sungbin!” you cried. “You’ve got to be the guy that ate him!”

He laughed and tugged at his hair a little self-consciously.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve grown a bit.”

“A bit! You’re... You’re a hulk!”

You were off your stool and gripping his bicep before he’d even finished the sentence—your fingertips didn’t even come close to touching. You were gawking, gaping, ogling this poor man without an attempt to hide it. You gestured broadly to his entire body with your other hand and only when you looked back up did you notice the blush on his face, the awkward way he averted his gaze. You stood back and gasped again, this time without choking.

“I’m so sorry,” you told him. “Oh my god, that was so rude of me. I’m so sorry! What a dickhead! This is a terrible first impression for me to be making!”

“Technically, not a first impression; we have met before.” He chuckled awkwardly. “And I didn’t exactly cover myself in glory then; I was, uh, a little worse for wear, I think.”

“A little?! We were worse for wear; you were... the worst for wear! I’m amazed you survived.”

“The joys of youth. Not sure I’d survive doing it now, just in case you had any ideas.”

“Mei and I could barely get you home then, there is no way on God’s green earth I’d be able to carry you home by myself now! I wouldn’t risk it.”

“So, we’re agreed then: both getting home in one piece?”

You lifted your glass.

“I’ll drink to that!”

You moved from one bar to the next, almost retracing steps you used to take in what felt like your former life. Sungbin paid great attention to where you were going and what else was around, cataloguing his new area, making notes for his new life. Your nerves were long gone, as were his, and you were enjoying a night out with a relative stranger as if you were a real person who did things like this: a real person who made new friends, who went out at the weekend, who had a proper life again. You had to pinch yourself to make sure this was all really happening, that this was all really going well. Your problems felt miles away, lightyears. You wondered if this is what it felt like to be normal. Whole. Fixed. You made a mental note to tell your therapist.

You were on a roof terrace, carpeted with fake grass, decorated with fake flowers. Everything was clean and bright and the sun was still high in the summer sky. It was still a little too warm and a little too sticky, your glasses sweating as well as your bodies, but the lightest of breezes lifted the ends of your hair every now and then, and you couldn’t have imagined a more comfortable feeling than the soft rush of wind across your hot skin. You took seats under a white, wooden pergola where the sunlight was dappled through the fronds twisted along the frame.

This heat usually enervated you, made you lethargic and sloth-like. That night, though, sitting under fake foliage, you felt solar-powered. There was a summer spring in your step. You felt, dare you believe it, like you were glowing. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. A brand new thing. A better thing. Being here, an old place, with Sungbin, a new friend, could have felt awkward, uncomfortable, like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole—you had expected it to—but no. You felt bigger and brighter, not smaller and duller. You were conscious of the possibility of your old life encroaching on your new one, the possibility of running into someone you used to know, but you decided to push those thoughts away. Compartmentalise them. Ignore them. You didn’t need them.

Sungbin was talking about his ex. It was an awkward break-up; they’d not been together long enough for her to move to Seoul with him, or for him to even ask her to, but it had been long enough that it felt significant, felt like throwing something away when they ended things. But he was young and he wasn’t worried. You didn’t say it out loud but you thought to yourself that a man like him surely would never have to worry: looking like he did, having the position he had, being a sweet, polite kind of guy; women would be queueing up for even a chance with him.

“I don’t really miss her that much, because there’s so much going on here that I haven’t really even had the time to. That, if nothing else, tells me it was the right decision for us.”

The words reached your ears but didn’t go in. You could feel your heart pounding hard in your chest and sweat begin to prick in your palms. Your eyes had flicked over the crowd in front of you, people walking in and out, to and from the bar, looking for tables, looking for friends. They had skimmed over the faces of strangers until they hit upon someone familiar. The face had immediately disappeared back into the crowd, but you were sure it was him. It had to be. Why else would your whole body have gone into panic mode? Why else would your legs be like jelly? Why else would your fingers feel numb? A quiet ringing grew louder in your ears and you kept looking for him again, waiting for that dark head above a white shirt to break through the crowd again. You had to be sure it was him.

“Are you ok?”

You wanted to stand. You had to stand and get a better view. You wished it weren’t so busy. Why did it have to be a Saturday night? Why were all these people out?

“Are you ok?”

A touch on your arm drew you back and your head span to Sungbin. He looked confused, concerned.

“I think I saw my ex,” you told him, your voice hoarse.

“Ah. A bad break-up?”

Your eyes had already gone back to the crowd, scanning and searching.

FUCK.

It was him. It really was him. It had to be. It couldn’t be.

“Yeah, no, I don’t know,” you answered vaguely.

You were still staring at him and then his eyes flicked to yours and you flinched so hard you almost knocked over your glass. You turned away, turned back; he looked as surprised as you were. He looked unsure. He looked like he was walking over to you.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you said under your breath, looking at the table, trying to work out how on earth you were going to handle this. You wondered, if you thought hard enough, if you would be able to make yourself disappear. You wondered if you could just run: leg it out of the bar as fast as you could and not look back. You felt dizzy. You felt sick. You felt... drunk. Too drunk. Of all the places and all the times you might have imagined seeing him again, this wasn’t one. This would probably be the very last place you’d have chosen to run into him.

Sungbin’s hand was back on your arm, less tentative now. He scooted his chair closer to yours. His hand slid down your wrist and he tangled his fingers in yours. You could only look at him; you didn’t have the mental capacity to even form the question in your mind.

“Don’t worry,” came his reply. “I got you.”

Then he winked.

“Hi.”

You looked up and there he was. San. Just as he always had been. Maybe his hair was a little shorter, you could kid yourself there was an extra line or two on his face. But it was him, no denying.

“Hi,” you squeaked back.

You were trying to think of all the things you wanted to say to him, trying to think of all the things you could say to him, that would be appropriate to say to him here, in this bar, whilst holding the hand of another man.

“Hi, I’m Sungbin.”

He was confident. He stuck out his free hand and gave San a generous smile.

“Oh, uh, San.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” San turned his face back to you. “How have you been?”

You looked at Sungbin for help: this relative stranger, this potential new friend pretending to be your new boyfriend in front of your old boyfriend, this man who seemed to have much better control of this situation than you did. You could barely think at all. It was a desperate ringing, alarm bells, sirens wailing, a maelstrom of panic. Sungbin smiled at you. You had no idea how long you looked at him before answering, had no sense of time anymore.

“Yeah, fine,” you said, eventually tearing your gaze from Sungbin to stare into San and the sun behind him. Sungbin gave your hand a squeeze. “Good, actually. You?”

“Yeah, same old same old, you know how things are. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, that’s my fault.” Sungbin stepping in to save you again. “I live in the area so I’m always dragging her over this way.”

You stammered for a second, trying to take in San’s surprise and Sungbin’s sweet, encouraging smile.

“Y-yeah, he does,” you confirmed. “I don’t- I don’t mind, though, really.”

“Mm, you always liked this bar. I remember.”

“Yeah.”

You noticed the way San’s eyes flicked to your hands, clasped together on the table, not just once but again and again. You wished you could peer inside his head, know what he was thinking.

You were hardly thinking at all. Your brain was trying so hard to be quick that it had overloaded itself, stalled, got stuck. You couldn’t get over the fact of him, there, in front of you. It had been months. Seasons had changed since you saw him last. You had changed. Could he see that? Did you want him to? Did you want him to miss you? Did you want him to be bothered by Sungbin—gentle giant, Sungbin, holding your hand so casually, talking about you as if you really were together? You tried not to imagine what San was doing there, who he was with. You didn’t know if you would care. You wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was dating. He was a catch, you knew that.

There were too many things happening at once, too many things to process. You felt like you were spinning out of control. What if San knew Sungbin wasn’t your boyfriend? What if he knew this was all pretend? What if he asked more about it? What if everything unravelled before your very eyes and the ground didn’t show mercy and swallow you whole?

“Are you still living around here?” San asked you. “I would’ve expected to see you around more.”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m over the river. I just-…"

You couldn’t commit yourself to the lie, had to let yourself trail off just looking at Sungbin, desperate for a sign you were doing ok, you were playing this the right way. He grinned at you.

“Like I said, my fault.”

He shrugged with a light chuckle and San faintly followed suit, mouth moving but no sound actually coming out.

“Right, well,” he began in the tell-tale way that said he was backing out of this conversation. “I’d better get back to my table. It was uh, nice meeting you, Sungbin. Good to see you, too-” his eyes rested on you, needled into you like he was searching for something specific in your face. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, me too. I mean, me for you, you know what I mean.”

A genuine smile. And a nod. Then he was retreating back into the sea of people, disappearing and leaving no trace. No trace but the hammering of your heart. No trace but the sweat pooling in your palms and sticking your dress to your back. No trace but the sudden exhaustion of the relief you felt being out of his presence. Sungbin squeezed your hand again.

“Bad break-up?”

You rested your forehead on the fingers of your free hand and shook your head.

“It was for me. It was the right decision but yeah, it was bad for me. I haven’t... I haven’t seen him since I moved the last of my shit out from our apartment – what used to be our apartment.”

Sungbin nodded knowingly and placed his hand on top of yours just for a second. Then he let you go completely.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I realise I didn’t really give you a chance to disagree; I’m sorry about that. I-”

You shook your head and waved your hand.

“It’s absolutely fine,” you reassured him. “It was good, actually.”

You were deeply grateful for his quick-thinking, presumptuous though it may have been. You wanted to splash your face with cold water, give yourself a shock, try to bring yourself back into the room. You didn’t want to look like you were still completely hung up on your ex; you didn’t want to look like a mess; you just needed a second to take a breath.

“That was... not expected,” you went on, more for your benefit than for his. “I have thought so many times about what I would say and what I would do if I saw him again but I guess I never really believed it would happen and then suddenly, he was fucking right in front of me and I just felt like dying!”

Sungbin laughed, as you knew he would, because it was a joke. It was a joke. But you didn’t not feel like dying for at least a second there.

“When did you break up?”

“Oh, months ago now. Kind of feels like I should be over it, I guess. I mean, I am, really. I just-...”

“You were caught off-guard. I get it; it’s rough seeing them again.”

It was rough. And you believed that he did get it. And he smiled at you so sincerely that you could have cried. It surprised you, that people could be nice to you; that people could like you, even; that people could see you and still smile at you. You looked at each other a little longer, Sungbin’s quiet calm radiating through you, your heartrate slowing and your spinning head coming to a stop.

“Thank you,” you said as you picked up your glass to take a sip to cover awkwardness that only you felt. “That was quick thinking and um, yeah, I think it helped. You didn’t have to do that.”

Sungbin shrugged.

“You’re doing me a big favour tonight; it was the least I could do. Happy to be your fake boyfriend whenever you need!”

He laughed and then you laughed and it felt good. You drained the last of your drink and Sungbin suggested you go somewhere else for your next one. You agreed. You didn’t look for San on your way out, just kept your eyes on Sungbin’s back as he led you, your hand in his (just in case), back through the bar and out onto the street.

“You don’t have to literally walk me to my door,” Sungbin said as you stepped into the lift with him. “I maintain that it should be me walking you home.”

You shrugged.

“That argument might hold water if you had even half a clue of how to get to my apartment. But you don’t. Besides, I was taking you out tonight; it only follows that I walk you back, too. Why break tradition?”

Sungbin bit back a grin.

“How long before I live that down?”

“Oh, at least five more years.”

“Well, if you’re going to make me suffer that, don’t you think we should do this correctly? Now, how did it go again?”

He moved behind you and draped himself over your shoulders, slowly leaning his weight onto you. You cried out and could do nothing but collapse underneath him.

“NO! I couldn’t carry you then; now you’re just trying to kill me!”

You knelt on the floor of the lift with your hands outstretched above you, as if they would in any way hold him off. He straightened and pulled you up by them.

“Fine,” he conceded as he stepped out at his floor. “But next time, you’re going to have to let me walk you home. Deal?”

You shrugged. You nodded. You didn’t take that as a promise.

“About your ex,” Sungbin started, standing in front of his door.

“Yeah?”

“Where exactly are you at with that?”

That had you on the backfoot. You didn’t know how to answer the question for yourself, let alone for him. Your first thought was that you probably would have to ask your therapist; did she think you were over it? Would she think you had closure? You blinked and opened your mouth as if somehow an answer would fall out of it without your having to compile it first.

“I just mean,” he continued, “are you dating? Would it be alright if I asked you out?”

“Oh, uh, I-”

Would it be alright? Wouldn’t it be? You had told yourself you were off dating. You weren’t ready for it; you had been emphatic when you’d said as much to Yoongi only a few weeks ago. Was that still true? You had spent so much time that day reminding yourself that this wasn’t a date, but... what if it had been? San aside, it had gone well, hadn’t it? You had had fun; Sungbin seemed like he had, too. He was the one who pretended to be your boyfriend first. Maybe... Maybe it would be ok? Maybe you were ready? There was only one way to really find out.

“Yeah, I guess that would be fine.”

He smiled.

“Good. I’ll do that then.”

He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles; everything inside you fluttered. Then he winked and dropped your hand to enter his door code.

“Text me when you get home safe, yeah?”

You nodded, mute. He smiled at you again.

“It was really nice to see you again.” And when he said your name, it sounded new.

You didn’t leave immediately. Couldn’t. You stood outside his apartment, in shock, processing, looking at his closed front door, to the left, to the right, looking for an answer to what just happened. Sungbin did not just ask you out. But he did say he would. He was going to ask you out.

And you had already kind of said yes.

To a date.

You fumbled in your bag for your phone and had it to your ear before you realised you absolutely had to leave, lest Sungbin hear you speaking. You scuttled back down the hallway and into the lift while Taehyung’s phone rang and rang and eventually went to voicemail. You hung up and tried again. And then again. And then you sent him a text.

You: TEDDY!!! PICK UPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You tried calling for a fourth time and for a fourth time, you heard the automated voice of his voicemail service.

You threw your phone back into your bag, defeated, but jittery with nerves and adrenaline. You could barely remember how this felt. In fact, with San you had seen it coming. You had engineered it. You had been flirting for weeks; you practically demanded he ask you out. Then he did. This had come out of the blue. Blindsided you. For the second time that evening. You were so shocked by Sungbin’s question that you had, momentarily, forgotten about running into San.

What a fucking night. One that you had almost no idea how or where to start processing. Everything was-… you threw your hands in the air, by yourself, in the lift, shaking your head, completely bewildered. Taehyung was your go-to person for this. He was your sounding board. You picked up your phone to call him just one more time.

Your phone rang as you were changing into your pyjamas and you picked it up with your vest only half pulled down over your chest.

“Teddy! Finally!”

“Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Are you hurt or injured or maimed in any way?”

“No.”

“Then stop calling!”

“Hey! I need to talk to you!”

“Well, it’s going to have to wait, princess; I’m busy.”

“Not even for five minutes?”

“No.”

“But I saw San!”

There was a pause as Taehyung digested the information.

“Are you ok?” he asked simply.

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

You heard a rustling in the background, another voice.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, turning your voice down to a loud stage whisper. “Are you with someone?”

“... Yes.”

“OH MY GOD! Oh my god, please tell me it’s the barista. Is it the barista? It is, right?!”

“... Yes.”

You squealed and fell onto your sofa to kick your feet in the air.

“WE HAVE SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT!” you screamed down the phone.

“Yes, but tomorrow.”

“Yeah, fine, tomorrow. Oh my god. I am SO excited, Teddybear.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll talk to you later. I’m going now.”

“Bye, Teddy!”

“Good night, babe; love you.”

“Love you!”

It was entirely possible that you weren’t going to be able to sleep at all now.

You squealed as you opened your door and let Taehyung into your apartment. He handed over an ice-cold, sweating cup of coffee and flopped onto your sofa.

“Tell me literally everything,” you demanded.

He merely shrugged.

“Don’t be fucking coy, you piece of shit! I want to know everything! It’s THE BARISTA.”

The barista worked at a coffee shop not far from Taehyung’s apartment. The barista was a fine, delicate-boned, ethereal beauty, probably the prettiest person you had ever seen in real life. Even Taehyung—unflappable, cool, calm and collected Taehyung—had been flustered the first time the barista had flashed him his pearly whites. And, last night, something had finally happened between them.

“There’s really not that much to tell,” Taehyung countered. “I asked him out and he said yes.”

You hit him hard with a cushion.

“I said I want to know everything! And you can’t just say it like it was that simple; you’ve been daydreaming about that guy for months!”

“Firstly, I was sussing out his situation. I understand tact and diplomacy and how to not say every stupid thing that’s in my head at any given moment-”

“Uncalled for, but go on.”

“-So I had to bide my time.-”

“Also, you’re a massive chicken and he made you go knock-kneed and goo-goo-eyed.”

“-Do you want me to tell you what happened? Or would you prefer to just make up your own version?”

You cackled.

“You know I’d love to make up my own story, but no, sorry, I’ll stop interrup-”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, babygir-”

“Ok, now who’s interrupting?!”

“I’m the one trying to tell you a story!”

“Ok! Ok! Fine, spin your yarn and give me the entire confection, please.”

“I’m seeing him again tonight. Truth be told, I’d be with him right now if someone hadn’t already laid claim to my time.”

“Teddy!”

You felt bad for tearing him away from his One True Love, you did. But he’d already seen his success with the barista (Hyunjin to those in the know) and could go running right back to him as soon as he was done here. All you had was a too-warm apartment to stew in until whatever hour or day Sungbin would choose to actually, officially do the asking.

“Come on, then,” Taehyung said, with a shrug, and nudged you with his foot. “How the fuck did you see San again?”

Shit, that too.

“Right, well, you know I was out with Sungbin last night—and, by the way, do NOT let me forget to show you his instagram. Oh my god. There are no words. And there’s also something else I need to tell you about him after this. But, yes, San, ok.”

It felt like trying to describe a blur. You still didn’t know how you felt about it. The whole night felt surreal to you now, like a dream. It was frustrating to have met him but not really met him, to have seen him and not been able to talk. Everything that you had been working through—trying to work through—felt bundled up inside you and you wanted him to know. You didn’t need him to think you were dating again, you didn’t need to ‘win’; you needed him to know that you understood. That maybe there would always be some kind of thing between you—history, old intimacies like ink stains in your skin—but it didn’t mean that that past would hold you back forever. You wanted him to see that you understood that.

But you came to those conclusions this morning, after a deep sleep, after another man had made implicit promises to ask you out. And, once he’d actually asked you, would anything you had to say to San matter anymore? Did it really matter now?

“I don’t know how I feel about it because... I had this blind panic, y’know? But I don’t know why I panicked because San is a good person and I understand why he broke up with me and I don’t blame him for that and there really shouldn’t have been any reason for it to be awkward, right?”

“I mean, another man pretending to be your boyfriend might make it a little awkward.”

“Maybe... But that’s not Sungbin’s fault; he was trying to help. I thought I’d be cool seeing him again, because I’ve thought so much about things I want to say to him or would say if I could, but when he was actually in front of me, it was like I couldn’t think at all. I don’t know what that means.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. You were surprised.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t I be over him? Should he have that effect on me even now?”

“I don’t think ‘should’ is a helpful word here, sugarplum. There is no should or shouldn’t about feelings; isn’t that therapy 101?”

“I just don’t know... I guess I thought that seeing him again would make everything crystal clear, written in stone. Sure. But... Well—ok, the other thing is that Sungbin kind of asked me out.”

“On a date?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

“Well, he asked me if it would be alright if he asked me out. And I said yes. So he said he would. But he hasn’t actually asked me yet.”

“And you want to know if you should go out with him or not?”

“I guess?”

You shrugged. You wanted to go out with Sungbin. You knew you wanted to because you could picture his smiling face and bulging biceps and you saw clearly, outside of the moment, how quickly and easily he stepped in to support you, no questions asked and no favours owed. He wanted to date you. You knew you wanted to date him. But-

“I don’t want it to be a mistake,” you said.

“That’s natural. No one likes making mistakes.”

“No, I mean, I don’t want it to be a mistake for Sungbin.”

“Why would it be?”

You looked at him, trying to say, without saying, what you meant. Because it had been for San—you had been. He was better off without you and maybe Sungbin would be, too. He was young and rich and free; he had just moved to the biggest city in the country; he had the world at his feet. Were you really going to let him limit himself, stop himself at your door?

Taehyung looked cross for a moment, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn, then he took a sip of his coffee (mostly iced water at this point) and, when he turned back to you, his gaze was softer.

“Baby,” he cooed and he held his arms out to you. Despite the heat in your poorly air-conditioned apartment, you climbed into his lap and let him stroke your hair. “There’s only one way to know for sure if something’s a mistake and that’s to do it. Sungbin clearly wants to. If you also want to, then you’re just going to have to dive in. The water’s great.”

You nodded and let him hold you, so grateful to him and all his tact and diplomacy and gentleness. He wasn’t always—or often—gentle with you, because usually that’s not what you needed and he knew it. Just like he knew that today, that was what you needed.

“I do have one question, though,” he said and his hesitance made your stomach drop.

“Ok.”

“Where does Yoongi fit in with all of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know; I thought you guys were-”

“-Friends! Just friends! Have I not said it a million times?! We’re just friends! We’ve always just been friends!”

“But you did have sex-”

“ONE TIME!”

You pushed away from him to better display your indignation and displeasure. Taehyung had a bee in his bonnet about Yoongi—had done since you’d first mentioned him—even though he didn’t know the guy, didn’t know anything.

“Ok, ok!” He held his hands up in defeat. “I just sort of figured you guys were heading in that direction.”

“Why?”

“You seem to like him a lot.”

“I do. Because we’re friends. I like you a lot, too, and we’re not going to shack up.”

“Yes, love, but I’m gay and you are not a man.”

You pushed him.

“You know what I mean!”

“I take your point. If you want to date Sungbin and feel good about it, then you have my blessing-”

“I don’t need your blessing, Teddy; I can do what I like!”

He fixed his eyes on you and simply waited you out.

“Ok, fine!” you cried, exasperated, after probably not more than five seconds. “Thank you, yes, I did want your approval.”

“And you have it, my sweet. As long as you’re happy and not being a complete idiot, I’m on board.”

“I mean... Thanks, I guess?”

"Don’t mention it.”

“Babe!” you cried as soon as Yoongi step foot inside the classroom the following Thursday. You beckoned him closer, telling him to hurry, and grabbed him by the arm as soon as he was within reach. “I have so much to tell you.”

He looked surprised, blinked, and then shrugged with a slight nod of his head. You didn’t pause for thought as you unloaded both your bags and your gossip onto the counter. You were sieving flour as you told him about your dinner with Mei; beating eggs into the mixture when you told him about drinks with Sungbin; and watching Yoongi almost drop the entire thing as he placed it in the oven when you mentioned San.

“What was that like?” he asked with genuine, but guarded, curiosity.

“A blur. Kind of a panicked mess but also fine. I sort of want a do-over but mostly for my pride, y’know? It was bumping into an ex, not actually meeting up with them so I think that made it better. But also worse because I had no time to prepare but there was also no opportunity to get into the difficult stuff which meant we didn’t have to get into it.”

“Do you still want to do that? Talk to him?”

“There’s a lot I want to say to him, but they are things I want to say more than things I think he would need or want to hear. If we met, it would be for my benefit and I don’t know if he deserves to be pulled in for that. Do you know what I mean?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment and nodded.

“And that was before Sungbin asked me out, too, so maybe I would be saying something different if that hadn’t happened.”

“He asked you out?”

Yoongi was turning towards his counter, looking at his sugar in his pan, turning on the hob, his head inclined just slightly towards you to indicate that he was listening. He needlessly pushed a hand through his hair which, far from tucking it behind his ear, made it fall in front of his face. You were, likewise, distracted by your sugar syrup and altogether too excited to take note of much else.

“Yes!” you cried in answer. “So, on the Saturday he asked if he could and, obviously, I said yes. Then it took him until Wednesday to actually do the damn thing, but yes, he asked me out and I said yes and we’re going out tomorrow for our first actual date.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? I had no idea it was coming—the bit where he asked if he could ask me out, I mean. We ran into my ex at drinks! And he asked me out?! And I was... I was discombobulated, you might say; I stood at his door for five minutes just in shock at what had happened. I was in disbelief. Especially because I wasn’t expecting it! At all. I mean, I was just doing Mei a favour! I didn’t think anything of it and now I can’t stop thinking about it! Or, well, him. I had forgotten how exciting this part is? It’s terrifying, yeah, completely horrifying, really, but I also just feel like I’m alive, y’know?”

You paused briefly, glancing at the oven timer and stirring your syrup.

“I just...” you started and then stopped, staring off into space to let the thought coalesce in your brain. “It’s so crazy that you can think one thing and then someone comes into your life and, suddenly, everything is so different. All it takes is one person to—ok, this is dramatic but you know me now so you’re going to have to let me be—change your whole life. A chance encounter? And suddenly I’m not the world’s loneliest, bitterest, most miserable single person alive? Suddenly, I have something to be excited about? To look forward to? I’m getting ahead of myself, I know I am, but I’m allowing it. I’m allowed to indulge in this because it’s been so long. I’ve been miserable for ages now. And I’m finally not. Don’t get me wrong when I say this, because therapy works, or at least it helps, it really does, but man, having a crush on someone is fucking electric, right? Years of counselling and it turns out nothing makes you feel the joy of being alive like when you really fucking like someone.”

Yoongi hummed.

Chapter Three | Masterlist | Chapter Five

#yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fic #bts fic #yoongi angst #bts angst #suga x reader

206 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 2 months

Text

Chapter 32 Our last goodbye

Chapter 32 of Sugar

A/N- Fun fact i had planned that Choso and y/n were barely going to hold hands in this chapter, when Satoru went to fight Sukuna 😂 good thing that didn’t happen lmao

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, talks of pregnancy, fluff, cigarettes, SPOILERS!! long chapter! Don't listen to this song while reading the goodbye scene at the beginning, it’ll make it sadder….

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode and or chapters- chapters 222-225 of the manga

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*A DAY BEFORE THE 24th*

Being outside your house wishing your daughter goodbye is reminiscent of last year when the twins were here, your family was strongly bonded, and Suguru was alive.

Now a year later, Suguru is dead, the twins are gone too, and the family you built with Suguru is distant. Now you’re talking to your brother, hoping once again that you all make it back alive.

“You’re not feeling sick today are you?” You tease your daughter.

Albeit she looks at you lost, going completely unaware that you’re recalling last year when she pretended to be sick so you and Suguru could stay behind.

“No,” she deadpans and shoots you a weird look. “Now why can’t you come with me?”

You sigh and crouch down to be at her level. “Because I have to stay here and fight because I’m strong and I can do something to help.”

Satori looks down with a pout so you quickly grab her hands and tilt your head down. “But you know what? I’ll see you before you know it.”

Satori gently kicks away some dirt and mumbles, “that’s what daddy said and I never saw him again.”

Shit, shit.

“I know honey, I know this is hard, and it’s okay to feel sad, tomorrow is a year since we lost your dad. But I will make it back okay? We will see each other again, I promise.” You try to assure her, but she keeps her eyes down, causing you to feel a pang of anguish in your heart but for an idea also pop into your head. “I have something I want to give you.”

Satori’s eyes flicker up and you let her hands go to pull something cold out of your pocket.

“I wanted to give you this later on,” you let her know and grab her hand again. “But I think right now is more fitting.”

You open her palm and place a necklace with three rings hanging from it. “This,” you continue while a smile finally breaks onto her features. “Is the rings your dad and I used to wear. This,” you point to your engagement ring. “Is the ring your dad gave me when he asked me to marry him, next to it is the ring he put on me when we got married, and that one,” you point to a thicker gold ring. “That one is your dad's wedding ring. You get to keep that now. So when you get older you get to size it so it fits you or turn it into something else. The same goes for my rings.”

Satori picks up the rings and holds them up to take a better look at them.

“But what about you?” She asks and tries to slide on your old engagement ring, but her fingers are still too small. “Won’t you miss it?”

You laugh breathlessly. “No, I have one, don’t worry about me.”

Satori hangs the necklace around her head and tucks the rings in her shirt before offering you a smile. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, now come here, so I can give you a big kiss…” you trail off the moment you capture her in an embrace and press kisses on her cheeks.

Satori giggles and squirms in your embrace. “No, no!”

You pull back and cup her cheeks. “Listen to me Satori, if you are ever in danger you can use your cursed technique okay? You can use any sword you make, okay?”

A flash of fear passes through her eyes, but you’re quick to push that fear away. “No, it’s okay; it doesn’t mean anything will happen, your uncles will be with you the entire time, and the community will too, so don’t worry I’m just letting you know.”

Satori lets out a deep breath and you caress her cheeks before giving her a sweet and assuring smile. “I love you,” you tell her from the bottom of your heart. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“I love you too,” she redirects and grabs your cheeks too.

“I’ll call you before bed.”

You nod in agreement and then glance at Satoru in the distance before you lean in and whisper in your daughter's ear. “Go say goodbye to your uncle, and Choso.”

Satori nods eagerly before she breaks away from you and runs over to Satoru. “Uncle Satoru!” She exclaims. And like expected Satoru crouches to be closer to her level and waits with open arms.

When Satori gets close to him she jumps over to him, knowing for certain that she’ll be caught and not lose balance.

“You know what?” She interjects as Satoru stands up to his given height with her secured in his hold. “I know a secret.”

“Hm?” Satoru probes with a curious smile.

You watch them from a distance and Choso approaches you from behind to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“You will win,” Satori lets Satoru know. “With your fight against Sukuna, you’ll win and bring Fushiguro home.”

Satoru blinks and his face slowly loses that teasing look that had been playing on his features, and a soft look slowly takes over.

“Oh? You think so?” He asks.

Satori nods. “Yes, because you’re strong. My Mommy and my Daddy always said you were the strongest sorcerer. And I believe you are strong too. That’s why I know you’ll win.”

Instead of smiling Satoru sighs and frowns before he brings up a genuine question. “And if I lose? Sukuna is strong too, what if I lose?”

Satori hums and averts her gaze for a moment before she grabs his cheeks and assures him. “Then you can all try again.”

Satoru’s lips pull to a smile and Satori whispers loudly. “But either way I will still think you’re strong, and I will still love you.”

Satoru’s eyes water and all he can do is nod in comprehension.

“I’ll miss you when I’m away,” Satori admits. “Don’t tell my friends but I think you’re my greatest friend.”

Satoru chuckles. “Your secret is safe with me.” He assures her and caresses the side of her head. “And you know what? When you miss me just look at the sky and remember that me and your mother are under the same sky, we see the same moon and the same sun.”

Satori lifts her head to look at the white clouds covering the blue sky with a smile she then shows off to her uncle. “Cool. Will you call me when the fight is over?” She asks.

Satoru sighs and doesn’t let her see his worry. “I'll try,” he assures her before he presses her against him to hug her tightly. “I love you Satori.”

Your daughter giggles and doesn’t hesitate to say it back. “I love you too, Uncle Satoru. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, Sugar.” He says sweetly before he puts her down, letting her walk to Choso, and letting you exhale deeply and then turn to face your family waiting for Satori to say her goodbyes to leave.

“We’ll take care of her,” Larue says as you approach him and the others.

“Okay,” you mumble and look at him, Miguel, Manami, and Toshihisa with a look you can’t keep hardened, no matter how unresolved your feelings are towards your family. “But call if something happens,” you tell them. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Larue interjects. “You focus on winning this fight…I know we may not be close right now but we are still family,” he clarifies to you and the rest gathered behind them. “We will always be family no matter what.”

You can’t say you disagree with that. No matter how upset you still are you can’t forsake them.

“I would like to say I wish you could all stay,” you finally drift the subject away from formalities. “But I’m glad you’re all leaving. That way everyone is safe.”

“Careful or I'll think you’re caring about us,” Toshihisa blurts, making you scoff.

“We’re family above all else, idiot.” You snap back. “I care. But…I can’t forgive just yet. However, there’s no one else I trust to take care of Satori than all of you…” you pause and offer them a genuine smile. “So please keep her safe.”

Miguel grabs your shoulder and assures you. “They will. They’ll keep everyone safe.”

You let out a deep sigh and nod softly. “You’ll come back right?” You ask him after some plans changed.

Miguel nods. “I’ll just accompany them to where they’ll layover and come back right away.”

You wish he’d stay with them too, but this is how things have to be with strong sorcerers like him. “All right,” you mumble and glance at the others. “I'll call when the fight is over to say if we won or lost. If I don’t call in a week then…please always remind Satori why I had to stay back and fight.”

Larue frowns and wants to contradict you so you don’t worry, but you’ll fight harder to get your point across so he agrees.

“Goodbye everyone, and be careful, and don’t let Satori watch the broadcast, okay?”

Miguel and Larue offer you an assuring nod, and Manami and Toshihisa give you a small wave. You turn to face Satori and meet her gaze right away.

“Goodbye, Choso, goodbye Uncle Satoru!” She throws out over her shoulder as she comes running over to you followed by her Tiger cursed spirit companion.

When she reaches you you give her one more hug. “Listen to your uncle okay? And pick up the phone when I call. I love you, my chipmunk.”

Satori squeezes you back. “I love you too Mommy.”

You keep her in your arms for a moment longer and when you feel her start to squirm you pull back and grab her cheeks to stare at her for a lingering moment before you let her go.

“Bye, Satori.” Your voice quivers, but she doesn’t catch it.

“Bye Mommy,” she says back over her shoulder when she turns to head to the car. “Bye, Uncle Satoru! Bye, Choso!”

“Bye Satori!” Satoru shouts whilst Choso returns the goodbye in a quieter tone.

“Bye Satori.”

You watch with tear-filled eyes and a weight laying heavier on your heart as Satori loads up in the car with the rest of your family. When she’s no longer seen and the car starts to roll away you can't handle the anguish or hold that weight, your heart sinks, and tears stream down your eyes, revealing your anguish upon seeing your daughter having to leave once again because of the dangers happening in your world.

Once again your daughter has to leave with the fear of not knowing if she'll see you again. She doesn’t express it, but you know it’s something that creeps inside her, and it became a much more terrifying fear after she lost Suguru.

And once again you have to live apart and say goodbye without knowing how long you’ll go without seeing your daughter, you have to live with heightened self-loathing for having to send her away once again. However, once again Choso is here with you. The last time you said goodbye to your daughter it was through the phone, and Choso and you were simple allies. Now he’s your husband, and now he’s holding you against him as you watch the cars' view get blocked by buses carrying the rest of the people from your community.

The moment the last bus leaves the grounds and the gates close more streams of tears fall down your cheeks. Choso can’t see your face, but he knows you well, before he can even hear you sniffle or before you can say a single word he turns you around to face him.

“She’ll be safe,” he tries to assure you. “She’ll be far away, but she’ll be safe.”

You meet his gaze and only cry harder at the feeling of his comfort. Choso then wastes no time to press his hand over your heart and tilt his head down to meet your gaze.

“My love,” he whispers. “You’ll see each other again.”

You slowly raise your hand and gently cup the back of his hand.

“I don’t want her to hate me,” you share a deep fear. “If I somehow lose I don’t want her to think I left her on purpose.”

Choso shakes his head. “You won’t lose,” he sets the record straight—or really he manifests that you won’t die tomorrow if Satoru somehow loses.

“…and she won’t hate you. You’ll reunite,” he says softly. “She’ll only hear how brave her mother was.”

You share a breathless laugh and then let out a deep breath that helps you relax your shoulders.

“Come here,” he whispers and pulls gently on your arm to wrap you in an embrace.

——

*LATER*

“I didn’t want to send her away, I hope you know that,” you whisper to the hibiscus plant to indirectly talk to Suguru without being heard or seen from those inside the house.

You’re not embarrassed, you’d just prefer to talk to your dead…husband? Ex-husband? What would he be now that you’re married?

Hm.

Nevertheless, you’d prefer to talk to him without anyone listening in.

“…But I also can’t risk letting anything happen to her,” you continue and feed the plant more water. “I hope that doesn’t upset you. I know we told ourselves we wouldn’t let Satori spend too much time without us. That’s not the parents we’d be, but…” you pause and sigh deeply. “It’s hard now with all this mess going on. I’m sorry.” You drop your head and hopelessly wait for a response. You knew you wouldn’t get one, but in the back of your head, you still leave silence to wait.

When the silence prolongs you lift your head and stare at the hibernating plant with longing to see Suguru in front of you instead of a mere plant so he can talk to you. So he can tell you that you’re stressing yourself out too much. Choso tells you, he gives you comfort and you appreciate it and him, but he’s not Satori’s father, he agrees with every choice you make about her. He doesn’t have the same wisdom, he won’t argue against you about the choices you make about sending your daughter away, he’s…not Suguru.

“…I’ll leave you be now,” you whisper. “Wish me luck.”

You get off the floor with the equipment you were using. When you reach the corner of the greenhouse you put away the equipment and take your gloves off to put them away before you wash your hands. You had brought your horse out so she could roam while you were outside; so you look out the window in search of her. And much to your surprise she’s not far, but you catch Kashimo watching her from up close.

So if Kashimo is here that means Hakari, Kirara, and Shoko are here too, and they didn’t bother to come looking for you.

Whatever!

You walk out after you change back into your riding boots, and immediately catch Kashimo’s attention.

“Oh wow,” he interjects nonchalantly. “Did he bore you already?”

You shoot him a pointed look and roll your eyes before you snap back. “Well, considering what we’re going to do tomorrow there’s no time for an actual honeymoon.”

Kashimo scoffs and shocks you by smirking at you. “You know I like—no,” he says. “I bask in all of the doubt you all have on Gojo.”

You lift a brow and tease him. “Which Gojo?”

He shoots you a dirty look before remarking. “You know who. Anyway, I’m glad you all doubt your brother's inability to win it means I will get to—”

“Kill yourself fighting your true love,” you mock him and touch your chest to feign swooning. “How romantic. You know I wish someone would let a lunatic bring them back after 400 years just to see me.”

Kashimo exhales through his nose out of frustration, so you chuckle whilst you walk past him to take your horse's lead and walk her back to the barn.

“Coming to fight the King of Curses is not a joke, I have reserved my cursed technique to use on the only opponent worthy of it.”

You peer at him over your shoulder and notice that he’s following you so you scoff at him and shake your head before you don’t hold back from sharing what you’re thinking. “Wasting your whole life chasing after death is pretty stupid. Did you even live your life?”

“I died an old man,” he grumbles.

You shrug and shake your head once again in disapproval. “And I admire you for it, I want to die old and wrinkly too, but what did you do throughout it? You spent your life unsatisfied because no one measured up to that monster…that sounds pretty pathetic…” you trail off in a whisper and let go of your horse's lead to pet her mane while she follows at your side.

“Oh please,” he retorts. “You sound just…” he trails off and you of course get curious over what he didn't say, but you’ve gotten to know him and he won’t budge and say anything even if you plead, so you just leave it be.

Even if not knowing will probably bother you.

“I had a life,” he throws out to try and prove you wrong. “I had a wife…she was dull though.”

You glare at him over your shoulder and shake your head. “How typical of you to say that,” you mutter between gritted teeth.

Kashimo shrugs with nonchalance. “What?” He retorts. “It was an arranged marriage. She was dull. Don’t tell me that you wouldn't say that about someone. I bet you’ve met some pretty dull woman in your line of work.”

You scrunch your nose and counter immediately. “No! All the women I’ve met in my line of work are hard-working, you don’t know what they have to go through to run down those runaways or pose for those photoshoots. They don’t all have the privilege of having money like me. Asshole.”

Kashimo doesn’t flinch at the insult and just crosses his arms over his chest and frowns deeper. “Okay then…” he trails off and mumbles something under his breath you don’t catch or get to question before he’s interjecting. “You're a Gojo, I’m sure you were arranged to someone.”

A smile tugs on your lips and you slow down to fall by his side and share about the man that almost was your husband. “Actually yes, Naoya Zen’in. He was misogynistic, and he liked to belittle me.”

Kashimo huffs and looks at you with pride. “Exactly so you can’t say shit.”

You smirk at him and hesitate showing off. “I actually beat him up with the help of Choso. We jumped him, and I shut him up.” You say proudly and bounce your shoulders. “And, I’m proud to say this, I sent a picture of him to his brothers looking all pathetic on the ground.”

A smirk flickers on the corner of his lips but he doesn’t show it for more than a second. “Why didn’t you just kill him?” He remarks.

You sigh dramatically. “It would be too much work. It was after Shibuya, I was hiding and going through different emotions so I didn’t want to deal with Zen’in’s seeking revenge.”

“You’re special grade though,” he points out. “You think they would’ve given you trouble?”

You meet his gaze and shake your head. “No. But again, I was going through stuff, and we were dealing with a hundred other things, so, it would’ve just been an inconvenience.”

Kashimo hums and you add on. “Naoya is dead so it doesn’t matter anymore either way.”

You reach the barn so you slide the lead off the horse and watch her walk into her stall before you reunite with Kashimo outside by the fence.

“I’m not doubting my brother by the way,” you make yourself clear since you couldn’t defend yourself before. “I just know tomorrow will be hard. I don’t want to build some illusion and only get hurt more if something bad were to happen, so I’m just preparing myself, everyone is.”

Kashimo keeps his eyes on the other horses grazing on the large field, but you both then glance at your beautiful black and white horse walking out of her stall to join the others.

“But it also doesn’t mean we’re not hoping you won’t fight,” you add and let your lips pull on a smile for him. “If you want to live out your dream and show off your technique then I’m excited to see what you’re hiding. So if you tag in for Satoru to let him take a break then that will be pretty cool.”

Kashimo turns his head, and when you see his gaze on you from the corner of your eyes you lean forward to fold your arms over the wooden fence before you slowly turn your head to look at him.

“I’m still hoping you’ll win though so I don’t have to fight him,” you continue in his silence. “But please if the fight does fall on you, kill Sukuna after we have killed Kenjaku, okay? That way we catch him by surprise like we want to.”

Kashimo sighs and shakes his head in disapproval. “If you’re not fast then I don’t know what to tell you,” he says bluntly, making you groan and push yourself off the fence to turn and face him.

“You know what? I hope my brother wins and you're left salivating over a what-if scenario with Sukuna,” you quip and shoot him a feigned sweet smile before you turn on your heels and start to walk back inside.

Kashimo doesn’t want to be left alone since your community is deserted now and slowly tows behind you.

“Don’t get disappointed when Sukuna rejects you,” you tease Kashimo, making him kick a small rock at your back.

Instead of being bugged by the action you laugh mockingly for too long before you join his silence.

Eventually when you get inside you walk to the parlor room where everyone seems to be. You can hear laughs and conversations, however, before you can turn toward the room you spot Shoko and Satoru outside. And the decision is clear, you join them on the back porch whilst Kashimo joins the others.

“Where have you been?” Satoru asks the moment you step outside. “Did you make my dinner yet?”

You raise a brow and scoff before you sit down by Shoko on the bench. “What are you doing outside?” You ask.

Shoko shrugs. “Just letting the students be and reminiscing about our youthful past.”

You laugh softly and pull your boots off before you tuck your feet under her thighs to keep them warm.

“It’s good when you’re around,” Shoko adds while she kills her cigarette. “It keeps me from smoking.”

You yawn and lay back on the cushions under you. “It’s good I’m pregnant that way I can stop smoking.”

“I have a name for one of your babies,” Satoru interjects. “Satoru the Second.”

You loll your head to the side and shoot him a pointed look. “I am not naming my child Satoru the Second. Satori was only given her name because Suguru liked it so much. I was going to name her Fumiko, which means hibiscus and beautiful child.”

Satoru puts his thumbs down and you ignore him to add another comment. “I’m actually not naming my children after anyone. I already told Choso that. We have too many people to choose from and I don’t want anyone to feel left out, so we’re not honoring anyone.”

“Well,” Satoru adds lazily as he lays back on the hammock. “Half of those people are dead so no one will know.”

“I’ll know,” you quickly rebuttal. “So if you have any name suggestions besides Satoru the Second, I will Iove to hear them. Choso and I will take it under consideration.” You smile sweetly at the ceiling.

“Is it okay if I name my cat Satoru the Second?” Shoko interjects “I want to get a cat after all this, someone to keep me company while I work. And I think cats with funny names are the cutest.”

You snort and Satoru remarks. “Hey!”

“The barn cat just had a litter of kittens,” you mention and wrap your arms over your chest to hug yourself as you feel a chill go down your spine and spread little goosebumps everywhere. “Take one when they’re big enough.”

Shoko pats your leg as a thank you before she says it. “Oh really thanks, that saves me a thousand bucks.”

“What?” Satoru teases. “You were going to get a thousand-dollar cat?”

“Yes,” she agrees right away. “I wanted one of those hairless cats to go with the funny name.”

You chortle and point at Satoru.

Your brother notices and swings the hammock towards you to slam the side of your thigh with his foot.

“You're so gross,” you snap back. “Your foot stinks.

“Untrue!” He quickly rebuttals. “I take good care of my feet.”

“Do you guys remember that game we used to play before you all went on big missions,” Shoko cuts in before Satoru and you can start going on and on just arguing. “The one where we told the worst thing that could happen and something we want to do after?”

You think for a moment to recall back to your high school days.

However, just as the memory hits you before you can say a thing Satoru blurts. “Yes, I remember! You made it up even though you hardly went on missions.”

“Hm, I know, but it was cool for you guys, no?” She asks.

You nod and hug yourself tighter before you take your phone out as you respond. “Yes, it was, so let’s play it now. You go first.”

You then text Choso since you don’t want to suffer through this bitterness any longer.

You to Choso: Could you bring me a blanket? I’m out on the back porch.

“Okay, well, the worst thing that could happen to me,” Shoko muses and lays back to tilt her head over the headrest. “Maybe lose my sense of taste.”

You laugh and check your phone as a message comes in.

Choso: Of course. Do you want a specific one?

You: no, any, please and thank you xoxo

“Sense of taste now how could you—”

“Eh!” Shoko cuts him off sharply. “No you don’t get to judge, remember?! Now I will answer your question.” She says and lets out a small breath before sharing her reasoning. “I would hate to lose my sense of taste because how am I supposed to drink? Tasting is a huge reason why anyone drinks, I mean if I can’t taste it I’d just get drunk on nothing-tasting liquid. It wouldn’t be fun.”

You chuckle and can’t help but agree. “That’s true I mean, especially when it comes to tropical drinks. I love those.”

“Exactly!”

Without saying anything Satoru just groans in a very specific judgy way.

“And you already know what I want to do after so Satoru go on,” Shoko encourages him. And without a moment to think about his response he blurts.

“I'd hate to lose my ability to speak, I have so much on my mind, and how could I bless people with my voice if I don't have it?! Oh and karaoke?”

You roll your eyes and snicker before you quip. “I would for one wouldn’t mind a mute brother. No more nagging voice.”

“Yeah,” Shoko agrees thoughtfully. “Silence at work would be wonderful.”

“Whatever, whatever,” Satoru doesn’t let either of you bother him. “Now what do I want to do after?” He trails off humming, and the door then opens.

You sit up and when you look back you see none other than Choso with a blanket.

“Here,” he says and walks over to hand you the blanket.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a sweet smile.

Choso nods and just as he’s about to turn to walk back inside you grab his wrist and pull him back to you. “Stay,” you suggest—or demand more like. “Leave the kids to…do whatever amongst themselves.”

Choso glances at Shoko and then at Satoru before letting his eyes fall back on you to express clear distress. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude,” he says, making you flash him a grin.

“Yes, I'm sure, we’re just hanging out,” you assure him.

Choso still seems unsure, and as Shoko sees that, she interjects to ease his concern. “You’re family now Choso, you don’t have to worry about intruding anything, plus this is your house now too, so you’re more than welcome.”

Choso still glances back at your brother with hesitation.

“He’s working out his mind by thinking of a response, you have to give him a minute,” you let Choso know. “But he won’t mind, now sit.”

Choso meets your gaze and holds it for a moment as he debates with himself before he decides to turn and sit down beside you, letting you lay down to rest your head on his lap while you cover your legs and Shoko’s lap with the blanket.

“Okay, Cho, we’re playing a game,” you let him know. “It’s something we’d play back in high school, just before we’d go on missions. You have to say the worst thing that can happen to you in that mission, but it can’t be anything depressing. And then you have to share something you want to do after, again nothing too depressing. It's just for fun.”

“Okay,” Choso rolls out as he thinks about the concept of the game.

“Shoko said that the worst thing for her would be to lose her sense of taste, and she wants to get a cat after this ordeal is over,” you share so he can understand better and have no questions. “And Satoru said something stupid like losing his ability to speak, he’s thinking of the next response, which!” You direct at Satoru loudly now. “He needs to hurry up and do!”

“No,” Satoru finally says. “Come back to me. I can’t make up my mind. You put me on the spot. You go next.”

You sigh and roll your eyes back to look at Choso. “You go,” you drift the attention to him. “I’ll go after. Remember, you don’t have to think too hard.”

Choso holds your gaze and lets out a deep breath before he spares a short glance at the others. “Well, I suppose the worst thing would be losing my sight. I wouldn’t be able to see the ones I love.”

You grin and nod. “Sweet,” you compliment him.

“A lot more humble than Satoru over there,” Shoko teases.

“Mhm-mm.”

“It's true, I can’t lie,” Satoru simply says.

“Whatever,” you interject and look back at your husband. “Now the next question.”

Choso nods softly and drops his head to hide the blush furiously growing on his cheeks. “Well this will be sappy, but I would like to make it to the twin's appointment scheduled in January. I want to hear their heartbeats, and I want to see if they’re growing okay.”

You flash him a toothy grin and can’t help but grab his arm to extend it out over you so you can nuzzle against it. “I love that response.” You coo, making him look at you and smile.

“Now you,” Shoko nudges your legs.

You smirk at the ceiling and immediately respond to the first question. “The worst thing that could happen is losing my hair. I love my white hair,” you share. “And I enjoy maintaining it.”

“Now how—”

“Shut up,” you cut your brother off before he can say some judgy remark. “Now, something I want to do, easy, ice skate!” You exclaim. “The lake freezes to the point you can ice skate on it in the winter, so that’s something I hope I can do.”

“If only you had the ability to do that,” Satoru mutters.

You sigh and nod. “If only. I’m a good Ice skater.”

Who are you kidding? Suguru would always need to hold your hand. But you like to pretend you can ice skate like those figure ice skaters on TV!

“Choso,” Satoru calls out, causing said man to stiffen and snap his eyes across from him—“I have an idea for a baby name. If there’s a boy, name him Satoru the Second!”

You pass Choso an amused look and just smile to wait for his response.

“Well,” Choso lets out slowly. “Y/N and I already decided that we aren’t going to name the twins after anyone we know.”

“And he doesn’t like it,” you interject for him.

Satoru looks over with a pointed gaze and Choso nods. “And I don’t like it,” he admits, making you laugh.

Satoru stays quiet so you nudge Shoko with your toe to remind him of who will take that name. “Plus Shoko’s cat will be named that.”

In Satoru’s silence, he chooses to take off his sock and throw it over at you. And since he doesn’t miss, the sock hits your face.

“What the—”

When you realize what hit you you start gagging dramatically, causing Satoru to burst out laughing. Which does trigger you, so you swiftly climb off the bench.

“Here we go,” Shoko mutters and watches you get ahold of Satoru’s hair and arm to drag him off the hammock so you can start hitting him.

Rather than trying to defend himself, Satoru starts laughing maniacally.

“Don’t worry,” Shoko tells Choso as he watches you and your brother with concern over the way you both act—“he usually doesn’t fight back. When he does it’s just playful.”

“Hm.”

“I told you I hate when you do that, why do you have to be such a boy!” You remark as you start shaking him.

The back door opens without you realizing and Yuji, Hakari, Kirara, and Kashimo walk out to see what’s going on.

“My money is on y/n,” you catch someone say. And when you look over your shoulder you see that it was Hakari.

“There’s nothing to bet on,” you say and let Satoru go to step back. “I’m done.” You huff and straighten out your sweater before you turn on your heels. “Now why don’t we go start dinner? And maybe watch something in the meanwhile.”

You walk off and Yuji mumbles, “that’s why I’m glad I don’t have a sister.”

Satoru chuckles. “She’s just easy to piss off.”

How is it easy to avoid thinking about the bad things that are going to happen? Is it because you’re already anticipating it and you know there’s no way around it?

Is that why it was so easy to enjoy the rest of the evening as if the next day you aren’t going to watch Satoru fight the strongest Sorcerer in history, or even participate in fighting that enemy yourself too?

Because it was easy, forgetting, making good memories with Kirara and Hakari, bonding with Choso and Yuji, and mending your relationship with Shoko and Satoru—oh, and forming a new friendship with Kashimo.

It was great, sweet, and for a minute, for a while, for a sweet moment you started to believe that nothing was going to happen, but then when the silence intervened while you were in bed it all came rushing back.

However, you keep trying to avoid it. “What will we tell the twins, or any of our other potential children when they ask how we met?” You can’t help but ask Choso while you get your gaze lost on the ceiling, and he closes his eyes.

“Oh yeah we met in Shibuya,” you pretend to quote lightheartedly. “Your father tried to kill me?”

“You were in my way,” he deadpans, making you pick your head off the pillow to turn it and look at him with an amused smile.

“Oh really? How romantic,” you coo. “But we can also say it this way; I saw your father when he was facing your uncle Satoru, he looked back at me and I said wow what a handsome man. It was love at first sight.”

Choso scoffs and peels one eye open to look at you with a slight smile.

You shrug and lean towards him to rest your hand on his chest and start caressing his skin under the blanket. “What?” You probe. “It was either you or volcano head. But he had anger issues, so maybe your father.”

Choso now peels both eyes open and shoots you a faint pointed look.

You laugh and go on messing with him. “Albeit considering his last choice in a romantic partner I think I wouldn't be his type—Ah!” You snap your fingers. “My brother could’ve been his type, he could’ve lived out his gay fantasy with Suguru’s body.”

Choso snorts.

“Should we send your father a card that says “congratulations you’re going to be a grandfather?” You ask Choso as a joke.

However, he can’t see it so lightheartedly. “No,” he mutters. “I won’t tell him anything. I won’t tell our kids about him either unless they ask. He deserves no recognition from me or my family.”

Your smile turns faint and you slither your hand up to cup his cheek and tilt his head your way. “After tomorrow he hopefully won’t be a problem anymore. I’ll bring you his brain so you can burn it or squish it, I don’t know. But tomorrow all he’ll be is a bad memory. I swear.”

The corner of Choso’s lips tug to a smile and he grabs your hand and plants a kiss on the heel of your hand before he whispers. “I know you’ll take care of it.”

He didn’t say it but you knew his father still being alive stresses him out because of the babies you’re expecting. Neither of you know what to expect from Kenjaku, especially if he were to find out his eldest son was expecting twins, and Choso fears that his father would somehow hurt you and in turn hurt your twins just to hurt him.

“Now,” you smoothly change the subject. “What will we tell our kids?”

Choso smiles softly. “The truth about how we met. I am not ashamed to say that I lost against you.”

You giggle and lean in closer to talk against his lips. “I told you I did not want to kill you, and good thing I didn't. Look at us.”

“Hm,” he coos softly. “Albeit Shibuya isn’t when we met for the first time. We met last year when you picked up my capsule.”

You hold his gaze and feel your smile soften as you grow enamored. “That’s right,” you whisper.

“But I suppose we can keep that story to ourselves,” he says and presses his forehead against yours.

“Choso,” you murmur as you’re lost in the intimacy of the moment. “I'm scared for tomorrow. I…don’t want to lose my brother, or you, or anyone else. I don’t want to go into tomorrow because it means we’ll have to face that unavoidable battle.”

Choso sighs and keeps you pressed against him. “I’m sorry I can’t reassure you that everyone will live because I don’t know tomorrow, but…doesn’t it make you feel better to know that everyone, especially your brother, will fight bravely to bring some form of peace?”

“I don’t want to be used to losing people,” you admit with a stinging throbbing in your throat. “I don’t want to be alone.”

You pull back and face him with your eyes gleaming with tears and your lips formed into a soft frown. If he could explain this expression he’d say it was a beautiful sadness, one poets would write sonnets about, a beautiful sadness artists would paint on their canvas.

“You won’t be alone,” he whispers to try and assure you.

“Do you swear?” You make a stupid promise out of fear. And he hesitates knowing he should let you down and not feed into your illusion, but he can’t help it when you look at him with those eyes full of tears.

“I swear.”

Choso wipes away the tears that slip down your cheeks and leans in to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

You kiss him back slowly to cherish that sweet taste of his lips before you try to sleep.

Will it come easy though?

Considering your current state you do feel that sometimes you get more exhausted a lot sooner so it lets you fall asleep fast, but what about this night?

You can feel your mind racing. It’s loud and annoying, and it makes you toss and turn, so you try and find the best position.

But you can’t!

So after a while, you open your eyes. However, instead of waking up in your room and looking at the ceiling, you wake somewhere else, but not somewhere strange….

You’re looking out some windows watching the rain fall, and hearing its gentle melody as it hits the earth outside the cozy and warm room you’re in. You don’t hear Choso’s gentle snores or the silence of the night outside your bedroom windows.

So where are you exactly?

You’re almost too afraid to look around, but you can’t stay in the dark forever so you slowly start turning your head, but you come to a quick stop when you see your long-dead best friend Haibara.

“This rain ruins our plans, but staying here and just hanging out is a good alternative,” he interjects and startles you. “Good thinking, y/n.”

You part your lips to respond but only a small gasp of air comes out.

“Staying indoors drove her insane,” Nanami, yes, that’s Nanami, he quips. And when you snap your head in the direction where his voice comes from you see him too, young in appearance just like Haibara, and wearing only part of his school uniform. He’s lounging indoors so his coat is off.

“Nanamin,” you mutter in disbelief.

Said man shoots you a pointed look and snaps back. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

You share a breathless laugh and stare at him for a lingering moment before someone else steals all your attention.

Suguru. He’s young Just like the other two. His hair is short and in a bun, he also isn’t as muscular. He’s his high school self. They all are.

“Suguru,” you whisper happily

Said man’s dark eyes fall on you and he looks at you perplexed before he raises the mugs in his hands. “Don’t worry It’s how you like it. I didn't forget. Now come on, sit with me before Satoru takes your spot.”

“Please refrain from fighting tonight,” Nanami already pleads in annoyance.

“Okay,” you go along with this…dream? Your surroundings aren’t clear, but they’re not too blurry either so that’s what makes it hard to tell. All you know is that this isn’t real. But you want it to be.

“…and I said that sounds stupid,” the voice of your brother begins to travel out the hall, so you stand up and quickly take a seat next to Suguru and let him hand you your cup of tea.

“What?” He asks as he doesn't need to ask you what you’re feeling. He sees your confusion and the anguish on your face.

“Where am I?” You have to ask.

However, Suguru laughs softly. “Here,” he retorts.

“Hm.”

Well, that wasn’t helpful whatsoever.

“…then please share any ideas you have,” you hear Shoko exclaim out of frustration before she and your brother walk into the room.

“Well,” Satoru stammers. “I will get back to you on that, but that beginning is stupid.”

Wait…you remember this now—or parts of this. This is some kind of memory. Only it’s a dream and memory hybrid, your mind is playing tricks on you while you sleep.

“Make some room!” Satoru exclaims and rushes over towards Suguru and you, but Suguru wraps his arm around you and pulls you towards him to close the gap between the two of you before Satoru can squeeze in between.

“No, sit by Shoko or Nanami—”

“No,” Nanami cuts him off before he can finish. “You move too much Satoru, sit somewhere else.”

You watch them all in awe, without saying a single word. You’re just too amazed by the power your mind holds as you try to avoid even thinking about what’s to come. It’s like it’s building you an escape.

“Y/N,” Satoru calls out and sits up with a smirk on his face. “Do you want to hear the start of our partner presentation?”

You make no remark like you did in that real day, years ago, this time you smile and nod. Even if your brother is alive, you still look at him and answer with starstruck wonder. “Yes, go ahead.”

Satoru parts his lips and draws in a breath to speak, but he then shuts his mouth and lowers his shades to narrow his gaze on you.

“No remarks?” He points out. “What's wrong with you?”

Your smile falls and that anguish is clear as day on your face for everyone to see.

“Is this about tomorrow?” Haibara asks the right question.

“Choso is right,” Suguru catches you by surprise by interjecting. “Isn’t it enough to know everyone will fight bravely for peace?”

You instinctively look down at your hand and see your engagement ring and your wedding band on your finger and think about the man you love beyond the tether of this dream. You think about forcing yourself to wake up to cuddle against him and find comfort in his presence, his warmth, and the sound of his heart beating, but as you take a look at all your friends, your brother, and Suguru, your sorrow heightens and you find a stronger need to stay.

But, you can’t hold in the truth hiding inside you a moment longer as you do stay in your fantasy dream. “I’m just…tired,” you confess and drop your head. “I’m tired of fighting, and I’m tired of grieving. I…don’t want to lose any more people I love. I don’t want to fight. I’m tired. Can’t I just stay here?”

“No,” Shoko immediately says back. “Not when people are relying on you.”

“And not when those relying on you are the same people you said you were fighting a future for,” Suguru interjects and steals your breath as you remember that truth.

Fighting for the future of the next generation was always present, but through your fear of losing the ones you love and ending up alone, your goals were clouded. Now though, it’s like getting splashed by cold water, but…you don’t want to let go of Suguru, Nanami, or Haibara now.

“But if I go I won’t see either of you again,” you share in a quivering voice and lift your head to look back at your friends, but as you do, you gasp when you see the top half of Nanami’s body is gone, like when you found him that night. And just like then it’s terrifying now. So you snap your head away, but then you come across Haibara gushing blood out of his giant gash on his torso, causing memories of his death to violently flash through your mind.

Memories that you don’t want to live through again so shut your eyes and turn your head away.

“Y/N?” Suguru asks and grabs your shoulder.

Albeit you don’t respond, you know better. You can’t look and relive the worst day of your life.

“Look at me, darling,” he tries to persuade you to open your eyes. “It’s okay.”

You just need to wake up.

Just wake up.

“Look,” Suguru calls out again and slides his hand up to cup your cheek. “It’s okay.”

It’s the softness of his voice, a voice you miss that makes you slowly open your eyes.

Alas just like before you’re struck with horror when you see Suguru’s arm missing and his wound bleeding, and half of his face covered in blood with one eye unable to open.

“This is fake!” You shout and shut your eyes. “This is a dream!”

It’s all fake, you keep repeating to yourself. It’s a dream.

You just need to open your eyes.

Open your eyes, open your eyes!

“Y/N?” A different voice calls, rougher than the rest, clearer too, so you slowly open your eyes and the first thing you see is Choso, and then you notice you’re in the dark in your shared room.

“Choso,” you say breathlessly.

A few beams of light from outside casts in so you’re able to see the deep concern on his face. “Are you okay? You were crying and jumping.” He says.

You process that you’re safe and no longer in your dream so you take a deep breath first before you nod and assure Choso. “Yeah, it’s just a bad dream. The anxiety of tomorrow got to me, sorry.”

Choso shakes his head softly. “It’s okay, just go back to sleep, okay? I’m here.”

You offer him a gentle smile and pull the blanket up to your chin. “Goodnight, Cho,” you whisper.

He smiles tiredly at you and redirects your comment. “Goodnight.”

You keep a distance since you know it’ll take a while to fall back asleep after your nightmare and you don’t want to disturb him. Which is annoying for you because you hate having a hard time sleeping. It just makes the night terribly long, and the shadows like to mess with you when you can’t fall asleep fast.

Albeit this time you don’t mind because you watch Choso sleeping on his side, and realize perhaps you were too quick to pick your dream over reality. The reality of your husband's soft and small lashes resting on his purple-tinted under eyes, his dark brown hair falling over his face, and his relaxed lips is better than any dream.

You honestly could stay up all night just watching him sleep, he looks beautiful just peaceful resting, but you can’t help anyone if you don’t get some shut-eye and dream anxiety-riddled dreams, so as your eyes get heavy you drag yourself towards Choso and slide your arms around him to nuzzle yourself against the warmth of his body.

He seems to feel you against him (perhaps because he’s a light sleeper) and slings his arm over your neck to cup the back of your head and press it against his chest to the point you can find comfort in the rhythm of his heartbeats, and fall asleep fast.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Here,” you help your brother try and put his last robe on, but he turns back slightly and snatches it from your hand.

“Don't pamper me, I'm not a child,” he snaps and slides on a white robe that completes his outfit for the fight against Sukuna.

You raise your hands in your defense and step back whilst you mutter, “I’m sorry.”

Satoru sighs and turns to face you with a reassuring look. “Are you really doubting me that much?” He says.

You scoff and shake your head. “No!” You defend yourself. “I'm just worried that’s all. Can’t I?”

Satoru shakes his head and smirks as he rests his hand on his hip. “No, I’m strong. I’m the strongest, I will win.”

You hold his gaze and can’t get rid of the worry, it’s too deeply tangled in your heart. But his overconfidence does make you smile with some ease.

“Besides I plan to witness all nine months of your pregnancy, who knows, maybe me and Choso will become good friends,” he says lightheartedly. “And I do want to meet my nieces or nephews, or whatever comes out of you.”

You laugh softly at his comment, but you can’t stay comfortably reassured for long, your face falls and expresses your fear for his life. Satoru notices and no matter how hard he tries to ignore your anguish that made his heart hurt, he can’t when you look so fearful and worried. It’s the brother in him that can’t keep ignoring it.

“Look,” he whispers and closes the gap between you to grab your cheeks. “I’ll fight hard. I’ll give him all I got and make it back. I’ll win.”

“I have faith you will,” you make yourself known. “But…I get scared thinking of living my life without my brother.”

Satoru swallows thickly knowing he can’t genuinely promise he will live. And he most of all can’t make the same promise he made to you when you were little kids.

“I will fight hard to win,” he says because that's all he can offer you.

“You swear?” You ask in a shaky voice.

Satoru nods. “I swear.”

You muster a wobbly smile and then quickly throw your arms around him to hold him in an embrace. “I love you,” you remind him.

Satoru hugs you back and squeezes you gently as he whispers back. “I love you too.”

You hug him tighter hoping that by some miracle you won’t have to let go.

But you do, and when you pull away you do so slowly.

“Kill that bastard,” you say with more confidence.

Satoru smirks and nods. “I will.”

You draw out a deep breath as you hold his gaze as if trying to memorize every detail of his bright blue eyes, and his face for just in case.

“Y/N,” he mumbles with a soft smile. “Promise you’ll be happy. Live your life and don’t stop living it because of me. Be what our parents couldn't be to you, to your kids, and just be happy. That’s all I want for you.”

You draw in a shaky breath but you stop yourself from shedding tears and instead smile at him and nod.

“Now come on,” he adds teasingly. “I don’t want to be late.”

You huff and shoot him a judgy look before you walk out of the room, not realizing he had lingered behind with Utathime and old man Gakuganji until you reach the top of the stairs and realize that no one is behind you.

The room below you though doesn’t seem to care that you aren’t Satoru, they all fall silent and tense as they know they’re moments away from seeing the man who could defeat a great evil or be destroyed by him.

And knowing you have everyone’s attention, you don’t show your ever-so-growing anxiety and instead show your students below a serious confidence that only adds more tension to the already tense room.

Which is why the silence isn’t broken when you descend the stairs. Besides, your students and the others seem to be brainstorming hard about something. They almost look mischievous.

“What are they up to?” You ask Choso when you reach him.

Choso follows your line of gaze and shrugs. “I don’t know, they've been discussing something for a while now.”

“Maybe they’re planning their escape,” Shoko adds lightheartedly. “I wouldn’t blame them—Now how was it? Your face is not pampered in tears.”

“As much I did want to cry, I’m holding strong,” you tell her. “Oh, and my father called Satoru. He didn’t say I love you but he said he wished him the best which is pretty much the same thing in his terms.”

“Why isn’t your family here? Shouldn’t they be here to help?” Choso asks.

You scoff in amusement. “This is above the big families, you’ll hear from them when the winner emerges.”

“Gojo!” Yuji calls out and quickly turns your attention to him only to see your brother walking down with a serious mug on his face that is almost intimidating.

“Your cursed technique is in the way!” Yuji adds, making the corner of your brother's lips fall to a partial frown for a lingering minute before he laughs and grins.

“Give it your best shot!” He exclaims happily and points to his back.

Yuji runs up to Satoru and grins as he pats his back. The other students ease up and smile now that Satoru loses his serious mug and smiles with glee. They actually proceed to pat his back and encourage him to do his best now too, which only seems to make your brother happier. And it’s something you can’t help but smile at too.

And you keep a hold of that smile as your brother gets closer to leaving. As much as your anguish wants to display on your face, you don’t let it, you encourage Satoru one last time with your bright smile

“Win Gojo!” Someone yells out from the crowd of sorcerers which is then followed by more words of encouragement.

“If it gets too rough I’ll tag you out!”

“Salmon!”

“Prove to us that you’re more than just a pretty face!”

“Go get him stupid blindfold!”

Satoru grins brightly and responds to the crowd, “Roger that.”

A shaky breath escapes you, but you hook your arm around Choso’s and keep smiling, noticing that Choso even offers your brother a genuine encouraging smile

“We’ll be watching,” you take your time to chime in too. “So do your best to kill that bastard. We believe in you Satoru!”

Said man’s gaze drifts to you and he holds your gaze for a moment before he offers you a much more softer smile and then leaves.

Now it’s a matter of time before Mei-Mei’s ravens display him on the multitude of screens in the center of the room. And every second leading up to that moment the more you feel your chest tighten.

“He’ll win,” Choso tries to comfort you. “He’s strong.”

You swallow thickly and nod softly in acknowledgment.

“Y/N,” Shoko calls out and makes her way to you through the crowd gathering around the screens.

“Hm?”

When your friend reaches you you notice a travel cup in her hand. “This is for you,” she says and hands you the cup.

“Me?” You ask and tilt the cups top your way. “Is it alcohol? I could use some.” you snicker, making Choso side-eye you.

“I'm joking,” you tell him with a teasing smile before you look at your friend in confusion. “But really what is this?”

“Lemon balm tea. For the stress. You’re so early on in your pregnancy and stress will make your blood pressure spike which affects the babies, so I thought this could help relax just some nerves.”

“Oh,” you gasp softly and share a happy look with Choso before you can’t help but smile at Shoko.

“Thank you,” you tell her in return. “This is actually a great idea.”

Shoko returns a softer smile and then goes serious when her eyes fall on Choso beside you. “Choso, if anything happens and she’s distraught, being with her and helping her breathe will help, okay? I’ll be around anyway, but I wouldn’t want you to feel helpless at the moment.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the mention, but you can’t contradict her because it can happen. Besides, Choso seems to be relieved to have been given advice.

“Thank you, Ieiri. I appreciate it,” Choso tells her with a half smile.

“Of course.”

Now to sit around the screens. You feel like not watching all together, but you can’t avoid it so you sit in between Choso and Yuji in front of the bunch of screens and wait for the moment your brother appears.

Yet waiting is agonizing. The screens aren’t black, Mei-Mei has her birds flying around the abandoned city streets waiting for Satoru to make his first attack, but that does nothing to calm down your nerves. You actually don’t realize you have your jaw clenched and your fists tightened until a warm hand gently covers your fist. When you look over, Choso passes you a comforting look.

“I’m here,” he says softly and with so much endearment. “I’ll hold your hand for the entirety of the fight.”

Your heart swoons at his kind words, and your body quickly eases at the comfort of his touch, letting him intertwine his fingers with yours and pull your hands toward his lap.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him from the bottom of your heart, making Choso smile before he interjects.

“If you start feeling bad, just let me know, we can go get some fresh air.”

You nod and then look over at Yuji beside you, noticing that he looks just as tense as you had been moments ago.

Now you won’t hold his hand like Choso is holding yours, but you try to be comforting. “One way or another Sukuna is going to die today and we will save your friend.”

Yuji’s eyes flicker to you and you now realize how similar his brown eyes are to Choso’s.

“I know, I believe that. Like I also believe today won’t be Gojo’s end,” Yuji rebuttals confidently.

“I like your thinking,” you compliment and then see his eyebrows knit with a flicker of concern.

“You’ll be okay, right? Watching this won't stress you out, or you know the twins?”

You smile wider with appreciation and honestly shrug. “I hope not, but Choso and I are taking precautions either way. Thank you for worrying.”

He flashes you a warm smile and before you can add anything else finally your brother starts to appear on majority of the screens.

“Nine points,” you hear him say with his eyes laser-focused, and his legs bent as he chants to use his technique. “Polarized light. Crow and Shomyo chant. The gap between and without.”

You swallow back nervously and tighten your hold on Choso’s hand.

A couple of fast seconds feel like an eternity as you wait for him to complete his chant.

“Hollow technique: purple,” Satoru finishes and puts one arm out to flick out his bright and powerful purple technique that blinds each and every screen, and deafens every sound with the immense power of his technique.

Minutes later when Mei-mei’s birds finally recuperate their sight all you see is dust and rubble cascading down, creating a mess on the street that Satoru walks down on to finally meet up with Sukuna.

Finally, the strongest sorcerer of the new era and the strongest sorcerer in history face each other and you don’t fail to notice that Sukuna is already healing his hands that had been destroyed by Satoru’s first attack. And seeing that makes you smirk.

“Seems you have the wrong idea here,” Satoru breaks the tense silence between the two sorcerers. “So let me just set things straight. You’re the challenger here.”

Sukuna’s gaze narrows before he spats. “Damned brat. I’m the challenger? You seem pretty pleased with yourself for only landing a surprise attack.”

Shouldn’t he be pleased that he caught the great Sukuna off guard and landed the first strike?

“You are but a fish atop my chopping board Satoru Gojo,” Sukuna continues and seems to just sound like a sore loser. “A bit fresher than others but still just a nameless fish. Let’s start off by peeling off those scales,” he says and imbues his hands with his cursed energy as he shifts one foot out to stand in his fighting stance.

“Let me ask you, why are you still wearing that face?” Satoru says back as he starts peeling off his scarf and his robe which leads you to mentally question yourself why he even bothered to dress so fancy if he was just going to take it off?

“You thought I’d hold back if you looked like that? Unfortunately for you, I’ve been doing some special training,” Satoru says and cracks his knuckles. “And since it’s Megumi, I know I can go all out,” he adds before his cursed energy explodes out and imbues his fists. “You’ve managed to survive death once already while you were in Yuji. So I’ve been thinkin’ I’ll worry about Megumi after I kill you.”

Your face flashes on a small smile before you frown as you catch Sukuna lunge at Satoru with a kick. However, Satoru blocks his first strike and counters with a swing.

Sukuna mirrors his action, but Satoru falls on his back to flick his hand out and send a strong hit that sends Sukuna through a wall.

The ravens broadcasting the fight don’t falter and catch Sukuna crashing through multiple walls until finally, he manages to land on a couple of stairs. But since your brother is fast he catches Sukuna off guard by appearing in front of him and kicking him back onto a bridge. Albeit since it wasn’t such a strong hit, Sukuna finds his footing quickly.

Satoru, though, doesn’t let him catch his breath, your brother jumps in the air and breaks off the piece of the bridge Sukuna is on with his technique before he sends it over to crash against a nearby building.

However, you catch Sukuna using his raw strength to push himself off the surface of the bridge and bounce onto the roof of a different building before zooming off and facing Satoru.

“Dismantle,” Sukuna announces and points his finger at your brother.

But, instead of his attack hitting your brother, the strike hits a building behind him and slices off half of it. Your brother gets surprised and looks back at what missed him and is now sending down half of a tower. Sukuna tries to catch Satoru off guard and pushes himself towards your brother when he’s looking back, but Satoru blocks his swing. Actually Sukuna’s fist doesn’t even hit him thanks to Satoru's technique, his fist only makes contact when Satoru grabs his fist and sends him through the falling building.

You then watch your brother follow after him, and the birds catch when Satoru grabs a floating door and hurls it at Sukuna to block the sight of him. You then wait for the next attack, but dust clouds the sight of every bird, and the sound of the building crashing booms out through every speaker, losing sight and sound of the fighters for a moment until you see Satoru and Sukuna walking out of the cloud of dust ever so casually, like if they aren’t trying to kill one another.

How odd.

“I’m gonna go ahead and pin this on you,” you hear your brother say as they watch the mess they’re already making.

“Who are you to say anything,” Sukuna mutters.

As if remembering that you’re all watching his battle, Satoru catches sight of one of Mei-Mei’s birds and looks surprised.

“Gojo’s limitless allows him to be completely untouchable,” Choso breaks the tense silence that filled the room, breaking your attention away from the screens to watch him as he spoke. “Sukuna is using domain amplification to neutralize his cursed technique. Domain amplification,” he repeats that last bit with what sounds to be surprise.

“I saw something similar in Mechamaru’s footage,” Okkotsu follows by saying. “That special grade cursed spirit used the same method in Shibuya to counter limitless.”

“It does seem that Gojo’s domain has been neutralized,” Hakari agrees before he follows up with a question. “But how?”

“It’s a more refined version of a simple domain,” Kusakabe answers. “By sheathing yourself in a domain without imbuing your own cursed technique, you allow your opponent's technique to flow into that empty space, thereby neutralizing it.”

“Can you do that Kusakabe?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, ‘course I can’t,” he spats back.

“The main drawback to domain amplification is that you can’t simultaneously use your own innate technique,” Angel interjects, making Panda cut in with a question.

“Wait doesn’t that mean Sukuna is fighting Satoru without a cursed technique?”

“Yes,” Angel responds. “Even Sukuna is no exception to this rule. So in other words, if Sukuna has some way to deal with limitless other than domain amplification Gojo will lose.”

You sigh and avert your gaze.

“If that’s the case,” Miwa shares her own thoughts. “Why isn’t Sukuna using Domain expansion?”

“It’s easy to say that,” you tell her and pull your eyes off the ground to look over at her. “But depending on the outcome of that domain battle, the fight would be over.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She asks and briefly meets your gaze before you look over at Kirara as they cut in with worry.

“That’s true! Why isn’t he doin’ that?!”

“Doesn’t the domain's sure hit effect negate Satoru’s technique in the first place?” Kirara follows up by saying, making Yuji respond.

“He told me that himself when we were in a cursed spirits domain.”

“Could it be that Sukuna doesn’t think he can win against Satoru Gojo in a domain battle?” Ui-Ui, Mei-Mei’s brother asks the crowd.

“No.” You shake your head, and Shoko bounces in to continue for you.

“If that were the case, Gojo would already be using domain expansion. I’d find it hard to believe that Gojo wouldn't be able to see that, with the six eyes and his shitty personality.”

You crack a soft smile whilst Choso crosses his arms over his chest and tucks your hand between his arms to keep your hand connected with his.

“What if their domains don’t actually clash?” Choso questions. “Based on what Inumaki and Yuji have said, I don’t think Sukuna’s domain expansion actually closes off a barrier.”

“Huh?!” Kusakabe gasps. “Bullishit.”

“I can't believe that,” Kashimo mutters.

“That’s insane,” Hakari says, and Okkotsu cuts in too.

“That’s absurd right?”

“Oh!” Miwa exclaims. “Is it that crazy?”

“Miwa toss me that water,” you hear Kusakabe order the girl around, and when she does toss him a bottle he stops her and complains.

Does he want the water in a cup with an umbrella on it or what?

It’s a good thing Miwa throws the water on his face, why is he being so picky about it?

“Expanding a domain without closing a barrier is just like that,” Mei-Mei uses what just happened as an example. “With no container, can water accumulate? Can you paint on empty air without a canvas? With no stem, roots, or leaves, can a flower bloom from a seed? It’s like using software without any hardware. At any rate, it’s completely impossible!”

“Megumi’s incomplete domain wasn’t enclosed within a barrier though,” Maki points out.

“I heard about that before the grade promotion assessment,” Kusakabe says. “Still, to do that he needed buildings or existing barriers to enclose his domain. That’s small potatoes compared to what’s going on now.”

“But Noritoshi Kamo—Kenjaku,” Choso corrects himself as he interjects to explain something. “…Managed to pull it off.”

You nod and chime in too. “We had planned for Yuki to counter his domain expansion with a simple domain while Tengen dismantled it from the outside.”

“However,” Choso bounces in. “The simple domain was torn apart in the blink of an eye, but if she had expanded her own domain.”

“It wouldn't have been a true domain battle,” you argue. “Though perhaps if she had expanded her own domain. There may have been a battle for Yuki’s sure-hit effect.”

“But what exactly would clash?” Choso asks.

You shrug. “Who knows.”

“Isn’t it literally against the sure-hit effect?” Miwa asks curiously.

“Given that the Sure-hit effect is imbued within the barrier itself,” you answer her. “It can only clash with another barrier.”

“You guys’re talking about their domains as if it’s a given, but that stuff devours an insane amount of cursed energy doesn’t it?” Ino breaks his silence to ask. “So shouldn’t they avoid usin’ it up thoughtlessly?”

“Fish flakes,” Inumaki says, and somehow Okkotsu understands him enough to bounce off his comment.

“It’s just as Inumaki says there’s no limit to Gojo’s cursed energy.”

“But that’s only because of how freakin’ efficient he is,” Ino continues to say. “His cursed energy consumption ends up being less than what he naturally replenishes overtime. But isn’t that working under the assumption he’s using it like normal? If he starts using domain expansion over ‘n over again consecutively, it’ll be a different story. And Sukuna?”

“He’s unreal,” Kashimo sneers. “The sharpness of his techniques activation, the way he can turn on a dime from using amplification to his innate technique…if Satoru Gojo didn’t have the six eyes, Sukuna would likely be winning in terms of efficiency in utilizing cursed energy.”

You sigh in frustration at all that’s being said, and Okkotsu interjects. “What's more, his total cursed energy is even more than mine. Going purely off intuition, I’d say by more than double. In other words, when it comes to these two, cursed energy is not the limiting factor for why they aren’t expanding their domains.”

“Maybe it’s just that nobody, not even the two of them, knows exactly how this is gonna play out,” Nishimiya says. “If Satoru Gojo and Sukuna Ryomen’s domains were to clash, who knows what would happen.”

“Hey,” Higuruma calls for everyone’s attention. “Here it comes.”

You look back at the screen after hearing the discussion and catch both Sukuna and Satoru doing a domain expansion at the exact same time, cutting off all sight of them as a large domain traps them both inside.

“They’re evenly matched,” you point out and stand up as if that would help you catch sight of your brother from within the domain. “Within the barrier, they are evenly matched.”

Nevertheless, parts of Sukuna’s domain literally starts branching out of Satoru’s domain.

“The barrier of a domain is weak against attacks from the outside!” Yuji yells out and moments later the domain explodes and all you see is Sukuna’s domain, and your brother facing him from the ground with shock.

“Come on,” you plead quietly and hold your hands together.

From one moment to the next a slash hits Satoru on his throat, right on his jugular! And you know most of all that any hit there can be deadly.

“Satoru!” You yell out with panic and fear for your dear brother's life.

A/N- Don’t worry we’ll have flashbacks and other stuff so it’s not just watching the fight lmao!

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest @natakina

45 notes · View notes

the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 11 months

Text

Birthday Kissies - James Wilson x peds!reader

description - a spanner is thrown into the works of the special birthday James has been planning for y/n for months. A spanner which happens to be a fever of 109.

word count - 1.9k

requested - yes

authors note - I'm literally living my dreams through these fanfictions! I know its not ambiguous but a lot of the little specifics I mention are stuff I'd love for someone to do on my birthday that I used so I could come up with a good visual. Please do let me know if I can make my writings more accessible to people in anyway!

Masterlist

Wilson giddily skipped through the hospital. He’d been on the edge of his seat all day. Tomorrow was the most important day in his calendar. January 4th, his loves birthday.

The hospital was still adorned in Christmas decorations, but this didn’t faze him. In his mind, December 25th was inferior in comparison to the magnificence of her birthday. He remembered the first birthday they’d shared together which happened to be his.

She’d woken him up with homemade pancakes, but they weren’t as delicious as the many kisses shed pecked onto his face. He didn’t hear anything she’d said as he looked on at the beauty who was practically straddling him wearing a plastic tiara and placing a birthday crown on his own head. But that may have also been caused by the party horn she’d woken him up with. Despite her being a doctor, she hadn’t thought through the ramifications of a party horn placed directly against someone’s ear. She’d happily thrown at him all his presents which had been carefully wrapped and decorated with ribbons and bows. All the gifts had a specific theme of blue and white with ‘doctor’ inspired wrapping paper. It was clearly meant for a child but her giddy face when she proudly showed them off won him over. His favourite gift had been an original film poster of ‘Dead Poets Society’.

“I remember you saying how much that film meant to you. I also already bought a frame for it so we can hang it up in your office tomorrow. If you want to.” She exclaimed whilst bouncing on the bed.

“Birthdays are important.” She’d said as they lay intertwined with their matching crowns, scoffing down the pancakes. “On that day, I can show the most important people in my life how much I love them.” She grabbed his cheeks and squished them together.

“Did your birthdays look half as good as this when you were a kid.” She faltered.

“Not really. No one should ever feel like that on their special day, so I try to make sure no one ever does.”

He’d collected the last card from her patients. The first thing he’d thought of as a gift for her was to ask all the children under her care to make something for her special day. There were a lot of cards, all decorated with glitter and ribbons. He’d specifically told Sadie she could make y/n a birthday crown. Sadie had been here for three years on and off and had a special relationship with y/n. It was only fitting she should get the honour of making the crown. It seemed to Wilson that as soon as you mentioned the name y/n y/l/n, children, parents, and doctors would come flooding, offering their help in any capacity. Every patients room he had gone into he was given two things: a handmade card from the kids and a beautifully wrapped present from the parents. Wilson smiled at this; no other doctor was as loved as she was, not even himself.

He was making his way back to his office, his elaborate plan was coming together. He sat down at his desk and went over the checklist he’d made for her surprise. 5 bouquets of pink roses, 3 bouquets of yellow tulips, chocolates, and macaroons from a patisserie in Paris they had visited on their anniversary, and about 100 pink and white balloons he was going to fill their apartment with. He’d already gone out shopping early this morning to get the ingredients to make her favourite meal and dessert. The icing on the cake, as it were, was the three layered chocolate cake decorated in white chocolate frosting, adorned with chocolate dipped strawberries. He’d had it ordered especially months ago and it was arriving tomorrow morning. After making sure everything was ordered and in place he relaxed into his chair. Closing his laptop, he picked up the shopping bag at his feet. He pulled out the stuffed pink bear he’d made for her, adorned in its little doctors outfit. Looking at it now, he felt silly. Surely, she’d be wanting jewellery or something like that. He’d thought it was cute at the time but now he felt embarrassed at his choice of gift.

The door to his office was ripped open. This caused Wilson to scramble to hide the bear back in the bag. House limped in.

“Please tell me you have actually bought y/n/n a present. You are not going to ruin her special day.”

“No, I have not.”

“I will give you the money, will you please jus—”

“I think you have more important things to worry about. Room 203.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

The two stood on the precipice of the room and watched the sniffling, whimpering, and writhing frame of y/n. She sloshed about on the bed, kicking away her blankets like a petulant child.

“Ah the true test of true love, a bad case of the flu. Enjoy lover boy.” House patted Wilson on the back and made to leave.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Getting as far away as possible. She can insult me enough when she’s in perfect health, I don’t want to see how severe it gets with a temperature of 109.” House quickly sprinted down the corridor as fast as his cane could take him. Wilson rolled his eyes at his friends fear of his utter sweetheart. This wasn’t his first rodeo with a sick y/n. All she wanted was love and attention. He was always happy to help.

The patient noticed the tall frame of her boyfriend in the door. She turned over towards him, bunching up her blankets into her body.

“Jamsey. I’m sick.”

“I know, darling.” He made his way over, giggling at the innocent tone of her voice. She squished herself further into the bed to make room for him to join her. “But we’re gonna get you better okay.” He placed his arm around her, and she cuddled into his side.

“But what about my patients.”

“Hey, none of that now. My main priority is you.” He smiled softly at how her eyes couldn’t even stay open till the end of the sentence. Her body was fighting so hard to stay awake, but it needed to stop. Even without the flu she’d been overworking herself recently. Her body needed the rest.

“I’m just sad you’re going to be feeling like this on your birthday.” Her eyes still hadn’t opened but her body had involuntarily snuggled into his side more, making their embrace tighter.

“As long as you’re with me, it’ll be perfect.” She slurred as sleep overtook her. “You are going to stay right?” her last thought before she was dragged further into her snooze.

He planted a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

*the next morning*

Wilson knocked on room 203. Y/n was now sat up and tucking into the tea and toast she’d been given for breakfast. Despite how much her eyes lit up when they landed on James, her face still looked sunken.

“Good morning baby, how are you feeling?”

“A bit better.” She’d softly uttered as he made his way over to her. She attempted to straighten out her messy hair and wipe away the sleep from her eyes. She fixed her gown, not wanting him to see her as any less than perfect. But the joke was on her as he already saw her as the most beautiful girl in the world.

“I felt so guilty in our bed, leaving you here alone.” He had begged her to let him stay the night with her, even setting up a faux bed in the form of four hospital chairs and a pillow. But she had ordered him to go home and sleep in a proper bed, threatening him with no sex for a month. It was bad enough he would have had a bad back from the chairs, but he had already worked a 10 hour shift that day, she knew he deserved a good night’s sleep.

“Well, you’re here now, and I’m so happy.” She softly kissed his cheek with her arms wrapped around his neck. He turned in her arms, aiming for her lips but she stopped him with her hand.

“Nooooo, I’m sick.” He shrugged away her hand and leant in.

“We’ll be sick together then.” Their lips locked. They each tried to suck out the others soul and their tongues clashed for dominance with y/n eventually relenting. The 12 hours between when James had left last night and now had been excruciating for the pair.

They eventually came apart for air. “I nearly forgot.”

He left her room and returned with a trolley filled with delicately wrapped pink gifts, each one adorned with a massive white ribbon. The trolley was also covered with pink and white balloons tied to each handle. She squealed at this display, practically jumping up and down on the bed, having to be calmed down by James who soothed her cheers with a kiss to the cheek.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

“This is amazing, James. Thank you!” she grabbed the sides of his face to bring him down into a passionate kiss, whilst continuing to utter how much she loves him.

He sat with her on her bed as she thumbed through all the cards from her patients. Each one received a sunny smile and some even elicited a few tears. She proudly wore the crown from Sadie which she compared to something off of a fashion show. All 29 of the gifts were eagerly ripped open. In between each one, she scolded him for buying her too much, but this juxtaposed how furiously she tore into each new gift. He had to remind her that a lot were from colleagues and parents, which warmed her heart.

They reached the end, and she was surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbon.

“There is one more.” He pulled out the bear, hidden at the bottom of the trolley. He began fidgeting with it in his lap, suddenly feeling small in the face of all the previous gifts. “It’s silly but I thought it was cute and I thought you might like it and--”

“YOU GOT ME A TEDDY BEAR!” she threw her arms around him at breakneck pace. When she pulled back, she carefully took the bear from his arms and squeezed it into her chest. She turned it around and giggled at the doctors outfit it was dressed in. “I love it so much! It’s just like the one on your shelf!”

He shuffled so he was sat behind her and took her into his arms. They both gazed down lovingly at the bear. “She’s gonna be our baby. I’ll be her mummy and you can be her daddy and she’s gonna come to work with mummy every day.” She clasped the bear against her chest once again. Wilson sighed at the mess around her hospital room. He began to collect a few fallen pieces of wrapping paper preparing to throw them away. His eyes glanced towards the closed door and saw a pink envelope partially stuck under the door. He picked it up and saw ‘Mrs Wilson’ scribbled across the front. He smiled knowing the one person who called y/n that.

“One more. From House.” He handed her over the envelope. She opened it up and audibly gasped.

“What is it?”

“HE GOT US A SKIING TRIP!” James’ ears were covered in seconds to prevent his ears from being permanently damaged, once again. As she went on and on about the trip which had all been paid for by House, he joined her on the bed and gradually encouraged her to lie down with him, knowing how much her body needed the rest. He gathered her up in his arms and let her tire herself out so she could then slump into his arms and drift off to sleep.

#dr james wilson #dr james wilson x reader #house md #james wilson #dr james wilson x peds!reader #house x wilson #dr house #dr house x reader #house x reader #james wilson x peds!reader #house x cameron #house x cuddy #robert sean leonard #robert sean leonard x reader #robert sean leonard imagine #james wilson imagine #house md imagines

162 notes · View notes

threewaywithdelusion · 11 months

Text

I Forgot What I Called This on AO3 (Stranger Things Fanfiction)

Because AO3 is down and I'm posting my fanfic over here for people to read. If you search "Mia writes fanfic" on my page, you can see all the fic I've posted here

Steve had been getting things ready for the kids all week and they were arriving tomorrow morning and he definitely wasn’t losing his mind. Robin had called him a mother hen three times already and had taken to just smiling fondly and rolling her eyes as Steve moved the couch for the twelfth time, trying to make sure Max’s wheelchair would fit through the tight space.

“It’ll be fine, Dingus,” she said for the millionth time. “The kids love you and they’re going to keep on loving you even if you don’t move our coffee table three inches to the left.”

Steve scowled. “You say that, but if Max hits the table Lucas is going to bite my head off. And Dustin will say something about how if I’d paid more attention in math or physics or wherever the hell you learn this stuff, I would have known to move the table three inches to the left. And then-“

“And then nothing!” Robin said. She set her glass of wine down on the floor — Steve winced, knowing she was going to trip over it later — and came over to take his hands. “They’ll still love you exactly the same. They’re your kids.”

“I haven’t seen them since Christmas!” Steve said.

Robin gave him a fond look. “It’s been three months, Steve. They haven’t forgotten you in that time. Now sit down with me before you give yourself gray hairs and ruin that pretty head of yours.”

Steve took a deep breath and followed Robin to the newly-relocated sofa, picking up her glass of wine and handing it to her moments before she could kick it.

Steve picked up his own glass of wine, which he’d barely touched.

“To our last moments of peace and quiet,” Robin said.

Steve knocked his glass against hers.

***

The kids looked so grown-up.

Lucas was insanely tall and he looked like a proper, put-together adult, pushing Max’s wheelchair with one hand and carrying two duffel bags on his shoulder. He’d clearly been working out and his clothes were a little trendier than what he used to wear. He was the only one of the three to have already turned eighteen, and Steve couldn’t believe how quickly he was growing up.

Max also looked completely different from the kid Steve had first met. There were the things strangers noticed about her first — the milky-white eyes she refused to hide behind sunglasses, even when the lights gave her headaches, and the wheelchair — but she’d also cut most off that long red hair off. She had a short cut which she’d spiked up with hair gel and Farrah Fawcett hairspray — Steve had taught her how to do it, over a year ago — and it made her look badass and alternative and like she was comfortable with herself.

Dustin still wore his nerdy baseball cap, but his curls had grown out past his shoulders — an homage to Eddie — and still wore a nerdy shirt with a button up over it. Of all the kids, he looked the most the same, the most like the thirteen-year-old who had dragged Steve into his life with a hunt for a missing demodog.

Steve loved them all so much.

He ran towards them, ignoring Robin’s “they’re walking this way anyway!” and immediately pulled Dustin into a hug. Dustin dropped his suitcase to return it, holding Steve tightly and already chattering away.

They rocked from side to side for a moment.

“I thought California was supposed to make you tan, but you look the same,” Dustin said.

Steve gave a watery laugh and pulled out of the hug. “I missed you too, you dick.”

“Is Steve crying?” Max asked.

“No!” Steve protested.

Max raised her eyebrows judgmentally. “Are you lying to the blind girl?”

Lucas grinned, leaning on the back of her wheelchair. “Not cool, Steve.”

Steve stepped around Dustin and Lucas came over to give Steve a hug. God he was so fucking tall.

Behind him, Steve could hear Robin greeting Dustin.

Steve bent down to give Max a hug too. She squeezed him, then traced over his head before letting him pull back.

“Did you cut your hair?” she asked.

“A bit,” Steve told her. “There’s a longer floppy bit in the front, but it’s shorter all around.”

Max tilted her head. “Does it look good?”

“Of course!” Steve scoffed, right as Lucas said “eh.”

Steve snapped his fingers at Lucas. “You’re dead to me, Sinclair.”

“So your hair got worse and you’re pasty, Steve?” Max teased. “What have you been doing out here?”

“I’ll have you know that I look amazing,” Steve told her. “Lucas and Dustin are just liars.”

“You are pasty!” Dustin protested.

“It’s okay, I don’t have to see it,” Max said. She put a hand over her heart. “I’ll always remember you fondly, the way you looked on Lovers Lake.”

Steve grinned. He’d heard this story many times over the years and he always loved it, even though the details tended to change depending on whether Max, Lucas, or Dustin was telling it.

Lucas scowled. “Forget him! You should remember how hot I looked!”

Max reached behind her and Lucas put his hand where she could find it just so that she could pat it condescendingly. “I remember, baby. You looked great for fifteen.”

Lucas made a sound of indignation, but he was smiling fondly as he picked Max’s hand up and kissed it.

Dustin groaned. “I’ve been third-wheeling them the whole way here. Please tell me I don’t have to share a room with them.”

“We’re not that bad,” Lucas protested.

At the same time, Max said, “You’re just jealous because you don’t see Suzie until Wednesday.”

“You don’t have to share a room,” Steve said. “Robin and I are taking her room, Lucas and Max are taking my room, and Dustin, you get the couch.”

“Why do I get stuck with the couch?” Dustin asked.

“Because you’re only here for four days,” Steve said.

“Yeah, Steve’s jealous that you don’t like him as much as Suzie,” Robin teased. “You’re breaking his heart, Dusty-Bun.”

“That is not true!” Steve protested.

“So does this mean you two are finally…” Dustin directed at Steve and Robin, eyebrows waggling.

Steve groaned. “No, Dustin. Never going to happen. Come on, let’s get going.”

He grabbed both of the duffels Lucas had been carrying so Lucas could use both hands to push Max.

“Why would we be paying rent for a two-bedroom in San Francisco if we were together,” Robin asked Dustin. “Have you seen rent prices around here? Cause I could probably sell a kidney for less than an apartment.”

Dustin got a thoughtful look on his face. Steve wasn’t optimistic that Dustin would give up if he hadn’t in the past four years, but he watched as Robin walked with him, trying (hopelessly) to talk him out of it.

“What about Robin?” Max asked.

Steve didn’t answer at first, assuming she was talking to Lucas, until she poked him in the thigh.

“What?”

“Does Robin look hot?”

Steve groaned. “Not you too, Mayfield.”

“Come on, Steve, you have to tell me.”

“Her hair is a bit longer and the tips are blue,” Steve said.

Max huffed. “Thank you for that being completely unhelpful. Do you even like girls? That was the lamest description I’ve ever heard.”

Steve sputtered.

“Yeah, she looks hot,” Lucas said.

Steve shot him a look, trying to warn him that when your girlfriend asked if another woman was hot, it was always a trick question. You should never, ever answer with a yes.

If Max and Lucas broke up again right before staying with him for a week, Steve was going to lose his mind.

“Thank you, Lucas!” Max said, sounding triumphant. “That’s how it’s done.”

Steve blinked, first at Max, then at Lucas.

He would never have gotten away with saying that to Nancy or Debbie or any of the girls he’d dated. Hell, the only woman he would say that to was Robin, and that was because she had equal interest in pretty women.

Lucas gave Steve a little smile that Steve couldn’t interpret.

Steve gave up.

“Whatever is going on between you two, just know that I promised Mrs. Sinclair multiple times that you wouldn’t be in the same room. So if anyone asks, Dustin bunked with Lucas and Max stayed with Robin while I took the couch.”

“How noble of you,” Dustin shouted back, the little eavesdropper. “To take the uncomfortable couch instead of forcing it on your unsuspecting guests!”

Steve flipped him off.

“We’re not stupid,” Max said. “We know how to lie our asses off.”

“And I don’t want to hear any noises!” Steve added. “I don’t care what you do in there, but for the love of god, don’t make me hear it!”

Lucas made a horrified face. “Man, please stop talking.”

Steve was also blushing, but he forged on. “Last thing, I promise. I’m hating this just as much as you are.”

“I doubt that,” Max muttered.

Steve’s face was burning. “There are condoms in the bedside table,” he told the floor.

There was no response. Steve risked a peek at the kids and saw that they both looked vaguely traumatized and bright red.

Robin and Dustin, who had stopped by the car, watched as the three of them approached.

Robin took one look at Steve’s face and cackled. “Did he give you the safe sex talk?”

Dustin groaned.

Robin looked gleeful. She patted Dustin’s arm as she leaned in, pretending to whisper while talking loud as fuck. “Don’t be jealous, Dusty-Bun,” she teased. “Steve also bought you condoms to take to Utah.”

She and Max burst out laughing while Dustin turned to Steve with a look of horrified betrayal.

Steve pinched his nose. “Everybody get in the car or I’m leaving without you.”

***

Of course it didn’t matter how much Steve had fretted about preparing everything just right, because disaster struck just as they were getting ready to leave for their dinner reservations that night.

Max accidentally hit the end table. Steve watched in what felt like slow-motion as Robin’s half-full wine glass from the night before teetered off the side and into his lap, soaking his jeans.

He cursed at the huge red wine stain in his lap.

“Whoops,” Max said.

“Robin!” Steve hissed.

“Sorry!” Robin said. “I forgot I left the wine glass there. But like, in my defense, if the end table had been in its usual place or the couch had been in its usual place or you hadn’t rearranged literally all of our furniture, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“So it’s my fault?” Steve asked, pouting at her.

She was unmoved by his puppy-dog eyes. “Go change, Dingus. I’ll clean the couch.”

Steve stood, ignoring the wine running down his legs, and went to Robin’s room. It was a disaster because Robin emptied half her closet onto the floor every time she tried to decide what to wear. Two years of living with her had been enough for Steve to unlearn two decades of keeping his parents’ house neat and clean, and when he’d grabbed clothes from his room to give it to Lucas and Max, he’d ended up dumping most of it in a pile on the floor.

Steve toed off the dirty jeans and looked through the pile as best as he could. He’d grabbed way too many shirts and it looked like the only pair of jeans he’d taken were his going out jeans. They were tighter than his usual pair and made his ass look amazing.

He yanked them on quickly and met the others in the living room in time for them to head out for the reservation. They made it to the restaurant with just enough time to spare, Steve dropping them all at the door to claim the table and then driving a few more minutes to find parking.

When he finally entered the restaurant, the kids enthusiastically waved him down and he couldn’t help his smile as he slid into the booth beside Robin.

It was great to catch up with the kids in person instead of over the phone or Dustin’s Cerebro. Like this, Steve could watch Dustin’s eyes get all fond when he talked about going to school with Suzie in the fall if they both got accepted into MIT. He could hear Max’s laugh without static interrupting it. He could watch Lucas act out the plays in his most recent basketball game and see the way he still looked to Steve throughout the story, wanting approval.

Steve was so fucking proud of all of them.

Robin squeezed his hand under the table. “You look happy,” she whispered.

Steve squeezed back.

After Steve paid the bill — something that was much harder these days, but which he wasn’t going to tell the kids — they all meandered back to the car. Lucas and Max went ahead, murmuring quietly to each other. It was a nice night, clear and relatively warm for March.

“If you think so, then I’m stealing your coat,” Robin told Steve when he said that aloud. She didn’t wait for him to hand it over, but started stripping it off him. “I’m freezing.”

She wrapped his coat around herself and he laughed and put an arm around her, pulling her into his side and rubbing up and down her arm.

“Better?”

She hummed. “Toasty.”

There was no comment from Dustin, which was suspicious enough to make Steve check he was still there.

He was, walking on Steve’s left, but his attention was focused on Steve’s ass.

Steve frowned. “Dustin?”

Dustin looked up at him. “I don’t get it. Is there some fashion trend that Eddie was years ahead of? Or are you doing it to remember him? Neither of you were even super close with him!”

Steve took a minute to try to understand that, but it made no sense. He glanced at Robin, wondering if she was being slow, but she looked just as confused.

“What?”

“Your handkerchief,” Dustin said. “Are you wearing it for Eddie?”

Steve’s stomach flipped as he understood what was going on. He’d grabbed his going-out jeans in a hurry and he’d forgotten to take the handkerchief out of the back pocket from the last time he’d gone to a club.

Steve glanced over his shoulder to check what color he was wearing. It was dark blue, tucked into his right pocket.

Steve bit back a series of curses. He glanced at Robin again, who was watching him with wide eyes.

“Um,” Steve said. “I’m wearing it… like Eddie? In the same way, I think.”

“So to honor him?” Dustin asked. He traced his long curls. “Maybe I should do that.”

“No!” Steve said hurriedly. “Absolutely not!”

Dustin looked hurt. “I was way closer to him than you were, Steve. And I was the one there when-“

He cut off, glancing away.

Steve felt awful.

He and Dustin had had a bit of a rough time after Eddie’s death. Dustin had blamed both himself and Steve for letting Eddie die, and he’d felt guilty being friends with Steve when they’d lost Eddie. Like he was replacing one friend with another.

He knew how sensitive Dustin was about Eddie.

Steve was so open in San Francisco. He had followed Robin here because she wanted to be able to live without the same fear she’d had in Hawkins. He would have followed her anywhere. If she’d chosen the most homophobic town in the country he would have gone, despite the fact that traveling Europe with her after defeating Vecna had led Steve to realize he was interested in men. He was here because of her, not because of him.

But he loved living in a place where he could openly be himself. Where he could pass other men flagging on the streets and not just in discreet bars, hidden in the back corner of alleys. He loved when he and Robin went out and both brought people home, some girl coming out of Robin’s room in the morning to find Steve and his one-night-stand already making breakfast in the kitchen.

Being bisexual was a bigger part of him than he ever could have imagined back when he lived in Hawkins.

But he’d never been brave enough to tell the kids. They lived so far away and he saw them so infrequently and he hadn’t wanted to risk a negative reaction. If it went badly, they didn’t live in the same town. He couldn’t keep running into them, forcing them to slowly accept what he was. If the kids took it badly, they could just decide to never come back.

Steve couldn’t bear it if the kids walked away from him.

Robin nudged Steve gently, knocking him out of his thoughts.

Dustin looked really confused and upset. Fuck.

Steve would get hurt a thousand times before he ever hurt one of his kids.

“I’ll explain when we get home, okay?” Steve asked.

Dustin made a face. “Why not now?”

“It’s not something I want to just explain on the street,” Steve said. You never knew who might be listening, even in San Francisco. Besides, Dustin was guaranteed to ask a million questions even if he took it well, and Steve did not want to have that conversation on a random sidewalk.

“Fine,” Dustin huffed. He sped up a little to walk with Max and Lucas.

“You okay?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tight with fear.

“Dustin will be fine,” Robin said. “He loves you. He loved Eddie. I’ve never heard the kid say a single homophobic thing in his life.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeated.

“Steve,” Robin said seriously. She stopped walking and turned to face him. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. You can still make something up.”

“No,” Steve said finally. “I can’t. You’re right, I don’t think he’ll take this badly. Which means the only reason not to tell him is because I’m scared. I’m being stupid.”

“You don’t owe it to him,” Robin said.

Steve smiled tightly. “I’ve faced Demogorgons. Coming out has to be easier than that, right?”

Robin shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong lesbian, Steve. I’ve only ever come out to other gay people. I mean, even when I thought I was telling Steve “the Hair” Harrington — which was already easier, cause I was like, high on Russian truth serum — and that he was all popular and straight and definitely not gonna take it well, I didn’t know that I was secretly coming out to a bisexual guy who was going to become my platonic soulmate. So. No words of wisdom from me.”

Weirdly, Steve felt better after hearing that.

“Thanks, Robin,” he said.

“I love you,” she said seriously. “I’m here.”

“I love you too,” he said.

***

When they got back to the apartment, Dustin stomped over to the couch and took a seat, arms crossed.

Lucas looked at Steve warily. “You also did the bandana thing?”

Also? Was Lucas also still thinking about Eddie?

Steve sighed. “Okay, sit down. I’ll explain.”

Lucas took a seat beside Dustin and Max rolled her wheelchair so she was vaguely next to the couch, bumping the table again.

Steve moved to stand in front of the couch, wringing his hands together. Robin leaned against the wall behind him, silently offering support.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m, um,”

Bisexual.

The word wouldn’t come.

“Flagging,” he said instead. “That’s what it’s called when a guy wears a handkerchief in his back pocket.”

Lucas frowned. “Is that a fashion thing?”

“Not exactly,” Steve said. “It’s, um, a code? To let people know what you’re looking for.”

He was met with three blank stares.

“In the bedroom,” he croaked out.

Dustin’s face twisted. “It’s a sex thing?”

“Dude!” Lucas said.

“Why were you wearing it to dinner with us?” Dustin demanded.

“I forgot it was there!”

“I guess the new hair and the pastiness are working for you, if you’re getting enough girls that you’re forgetting your freaky sex flag is in your jeans” Max said. She looked the least affected of the three, but she was also blushing a little.

Yeah, Steve didn’t want to be talking about his sex life either.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense,” Dustin said. “It can’t be a new thing because Eddie was wearing one three years ago. And it can’t be a big city thing, because Eddie and Will were wearing them around Hawkins. So who wears it?”

Steve choked on his spit. “Will?”

“Yeah?” Dustin said. “I told you. I said neither of you were close with Eddie, so it didn’t make sense that you were wearing a hanky like he did.”

Steve gaped at Dustin. He didn’t know what to say. Dustin had just outed Will to Steve and he had no idea he’d done it. And now if Steve told Dustin who used hanky code, he would be outing Will to right back to Dustin.

“Fuck,” Steve said, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Does it mean something bad?” Lucas asked anxiously.

“No!” Steve blurted. “No!”

“So what does it mean?” Dustin asked.

Steve hesitated.

“Come on, Steve!” Dustin whined.

“Okay,” Steve said. “Look, I don’t know about Will, okay? Maybe he’s doing something else. Maybe it really is for fashion or something to him. I’m just talking about me.”

Max’s mouth dropped open a little and a look of comprehension crossed her face.

Steve didn’t stop to wonder what she’d put together. If he didn’t keep going, he would lose his nerve.

“It’s a gay code,” Steve said, voice shaking a little. “To let men know what I’m looking for.”

Absolute silence.

Dustin was frozen, mouth open and eyebrows up. He was staring at Steve is complete disbelief.

Lucas’s eyes were wide, and darting between Steve and Max.

Max’s face was frozen, the way it usually was when she needed to figure out what expression she wanted to show. She was cagey, only showing what she wanted and rarely what she was actually feeling.

Steve hoped she wasn’t hiding a negative reaction.

“YOU’RE GAY?” Dustin screamed.

Steve winced and shushed him. He wasn’t sure what the neighbors knew and did not want to find out.

“Bisexual,” he said. He felt Robin come up beside him to slide a hand into his and he dropped a little of his weight against her. “It means I like both. Men and women.”

Dustin looked like he was processing a new scientific discovery. “That’s a thing?”

Steve nodded.

“How did you know you were bisexual?” Dustin fired right away, brain clearly whirring with questions.

“I slept with a guy and liked it. So I slept with a couple more and liked that too, and then I got confused because I didn’t know you could like both and I was really sure I liked women. So I talked to a friend and they explained to me what bisexuality was.”

“Huh,” Dustin said.

Steve couldn’t take the suspense. Dustin had skipped straight to the interrogation and entirely blown past any kind of reaction, and the other two kids were just watching them go back and forth like it was a tennis match.

“Is that… okay? With everyone?” Steve asked. He heard Robin’s shoes scuff the ground behind him, like she was also anxiously waiting for an answer.

“Of course it’s fine, man,” Lucas said. He still looked a little surprised, but definitely not confused or revolted. He was actually taking this suspiciously well.

Over the years, Steve had given a lot of thought to how each of the kids would react. He’d figured Dustin would be nosy but accepting, Max would try to act cool even if she was a little freaked out, and Erica would say something insulting but would defend him harder than anyone. Mike would almost inevitably be a little asshole about it — Steve had eaten dinner at the Wheelers’ a lot when he’d been dating Nancy and he knew what sort of ideas Mike had been raised on. He’d been preparing for years to not take it personally when Mike reacted badly. Will was a bit of a wild card — Steve figured he was probably gay, but that his reaction would depend on where he was on his own journey of self-acceptance and whether he would be happy to have a gay friend or if he would lash out in an attempt to seem straight.

Lucas, though? Steve had never gotten a good reading one way or the other. He’d never heard Lucas say anything about gay people, positive or negative. And Lucas knew what it was like to be hated on by bigots like Billy because of the color of his skin, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was okay with gay people. In retrospect, Steve was pretty sure Billy had been some type of queer (he’d spent a lot of time harassing Steve while they were either sweating on a court or naked in the showers) and that certainly hadn’t stopped him from being racist, so it could definitely go the other way.

But Lucas was acting as if Steve had announced something unexpected but vaguely boring. Like he’d said he’d started rooting for the Golden State Warriors or traded in his car for a new one, instead of announcing he was sexually and romantically interested in men.

Dustin, on the other hand, looked insulted. “You think I care if you’re gay? I’m a little mad you didn’t tell me, but I don’t care who you date.”

“Yes, you do,” Steve said. “You try to set me up on dates all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just cause you’re always single and you can never get dates on your own. It’s kind of sad. I care about you not being lonely, not if you like dicks or not.”

Steve frowned. “Was that an insult or a compliment?”

Dustin scoffed. “You’re an idiot. But I, uh, love you and stuff. Even if you didn’t tell me you were gay for literal years.”

Steve felt a little warm inside and he couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, buddy.”

He looked at Max for a reaction, but she looked deep in thought. Okay. Maybe she needed time to process. He’d circle back to her.

“Was Eddie gay?” Dustin asked.

“Um, I mean, I can’t know for sure. He didn’t come out to me or anything. But he was definitely flagging and I’m pretty sure he was flirting with me when we were in the Upside Down.”

Dustin squinted at Steve. “So you and Eddie…?”

“No,” Steve said. “I only realized I liked guys after… everything.”

Dustin nodded like that made sense. “Is that why you moved to San Francisco?”

Steve debated how to answer that.

“No,” Robin said. “Steve moved here because of me. I moved here because it’s easier to be gay in San Francisco.”

Steve turned to gape at her. Robin was shaking slightly and cutting off the circulation in Steve’s hand, but her chin was tilted up proudly and her eyes were boring into Dustin.

Dustin was gaping. Max’s face was turning red.

“Sorry to steal your thunder,” Robin whispered.

Steve squeeze her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

She beamed. “You too, Dingus.”

“Oh my God,” Dustin said slowly. “Is this why you two won’t date?”

Robin laughed. “Yeah. I’m way too much of a lesbian to date Steve.”

Steve scrunched up his nose. “Like I’d date you, Buckley.”

“You asked me out,” Robin sing-songed. “You would totally date me.”

“You asked her out?” Dustin demanded.

“Ugh, yeah. Back when we still worked at Scoops Ahoy. She told me I would have a better shot if I was Tammy Thompson.”

“I knew Robin was your type!” Dustin was bouncing on the couch in excitement.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said. “You also didn’t notice that Robin was a lesbian for four years, so don’t be too proud of yourself.”

“Oh come on, Steve, how was I supposed to guess that everyone I know is gay?”

“Everyone?” Steve asked.

Dustin listed them off on his fingers. “You, Robin, Will.”

“You can’t be sure about Will,” Steve said halfheartedly.

Dustin gave him a look. “I assumed he was gay when we were like ten, Steve.”

Yeah. That made sense. Steve barely knew Will Byers before all the Upside Down shit had happened, but even he’d heard rumors in the days following Will’s disappearing about Will being gay. It made sense that Will’s oldest friends would have heard those rumors — and probably more — and that they would wonder if some of them were true.

“One out of three isn’t terrible gaydar,” Robin said.

“One out of four,” Max said.

They all turned to look at her. She was staring vaguely in the direction of Steve and Robin, holding Lucas’s hand in a death-grip.

“What?” Robin breathed, sounding excited.

“I like girls too,” Max said. “And Lucas.”

God, she was so fucking brave. Max had no choice but to stand out. Everywhere she went, people stared at the blind girl in the wheelchair. They pitied her. They pitied Max, which was insane. Max was smart and brave and stubborn and sarcastic as hell. She wasn’t someone to be pitied, she was someone to be admired.

Case in point: she didn’t have to paint another target on her back. She could have kept quiet and kept dating Lucas, who she was probably going to marry, and no one would ever assume she was anything other than straight.

Steve was twenty-two and had known he was bisexual for two years and had only said something because he hadn’t seen another way to keep from hurting Dustin.

Max was seventeen and already braver than Steve would ever be, holding Lucas’s hand defiantly and volunteering the information that she liked girls.

“See!” Dustin said, gesturing at Max. “Everyone I know is gay!”

That was a very Dustin reaction, even if it wasn’t necessarily the right one.

“Thanks for telling us, Max,” Steve said.

“If you ever wanna talk about girls, you can call me,” Robin said. “I talk to Steve sometimes, but he has terrible taste and he has the audacity to say that I have terrible taste and I would love to talk to another girl about this.”

Max grinned. “I get to talk to Lucas. And I know he has perfect taste because he chose me.”

Dustin made a gagging sound.

Lucas pressed a kiss to Max’s shoulder, looking embarrassed but pleased.

Steve was so proud of him. Max had clearly told him before tonight, and he was still here holding her hand, so he must have done everything right. He obviously hadn’t acted offended or taken it as a challenge to his masculinity that his girlfriend liked girls.

Steve thought of their little exchange in the airport and the way Max had asked if Robin looked hot.

His heart warmed, watching them.

He never would have believed that a relationship between two thirteen year olds would last this long. He was going to walk Max down the aisle someday, and he was willing to bet his measly life savings that Lucas would be the one waiting for her at the end.

“Am I gay?” Dustin wondered out loud.

Steve laughed. “Dude! I think you would know if you were gay.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Robin said. “But sometimes your twenty-year-old best friend tells you he thought everyone thought about pretty boys and you realize that some people are too much of a dingus to realize they’re gay.”

The kids all laughed.

“So what does your bandana mean?” Max asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Dustin made a face. “I don’t wanna know what Steve does in bed!”

Max shrugged. “I do.”

“Okay, someone’s a little too interested, Mayfield,” Steve said.

“I’m bisexual too!” Max protested. “I need to know this stuff.”

“You’re blind,” Dustin muttered. “You can’t even see the bandana.”

Max hit him threw a pillow at his head with unnerving accuracy.

“Girls don’t really use the same code,” Robin said. “You have to actually have the guts to go up to a girl and talk to her instead of knowing what she’s into based on what she’s wearing.”

“But how does it work?” Lucas asked. “Are you just saying you’re looking for a hookup?”

Steve blushed.

“Educate the queer youth, Steve!” Robin said, the traitor.

“Only one of them is even gay!”

“You can’t tell Max and not me!” Dustin immediately protested.

“And Max tells me everything, so I might as well hear it too.”

Steve groaned. He kind of wished a gate to the Upside Down would open under his feet so he could get out of having this conversation.

“Okay. The colors mean you’re looking for different things. And it also matters if the bandana is in the right or left pocket, because that tells people if you wanna do the thing or have the thing done to you.”

There. That was a kid-friendly description, right?

“So if Eddie’s bandana was black, what does that mean?” Dustin asked.

Steve gulped. Robin cackled.

“Um, black is sadomasochism,” Steve said. He had to force every word out of his mouth. “So he liked, um, rough sex.”

He cringed as the kids all turned bright red.

It wasn’t a new feeling, wishing Eddie hadn’t died. But this was the first time Steve wished he was alive specifically so Eddie could be having this conversation instead of Steve. Eddie would have been shameless, loudly proclaiming his preferences to everyone around, and then the kids would learn to stop asking invasive questions when they learned much more than they wanted to.

“What’s yours?” Dustin asked.

“None of your business,” Steve said quickly.

“Come on, Steve,” Dustin said. “Now that I know you can’t date Robin, I need to find someone else to set you up with. And how am I supposed to know you’re compatible if I don’t know what your bandana means?”

Robin was shaking against Steve. He looked at her briefly in concern, only to see that she was losing the battle against a fit of giggles.

“Save me,” he hissed to her.

“Steve, this is the best entertainment I’ve had all year. I’ve never you seen you this red, even that time in Scoops-“

“It’s dark blue,” Steve said, to keep Robin from telling that particular story. “So just regular sex.”

Dustin frowned. “You’re wearing a bandana that literally just says you’re looking for sex?”

“What’s regular sex between two dudes?” Lucas asked, frowning.

Steve groaned. “Did your parents never give you the sex talk?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t cover that.”

Steve scrubbed his hands down his face. He remembered when he’d first started sleeping with men, how much information he hadn’t known. He’d been traveling through Europe with Robin, hitting different gay clubs in each city, and he’d initially picked up a guy because he was bored and thought he might as well try it. (In retrospect, the man had been really pretty and Steve had been curious for a while, but boredom had been the excuse he had given himself to go through with it).

He hadn’t known what two men could do with each other. He hadn’t known how to be safe. He was really goddamn lucky that he hadn’t taken home the wrong guy, or gotten an STD, or gotten AIDS.

No one had ever given Steve the gay sex talk either, and if they’d offered it to him back when they’d given him the straight sex talk, Steve wouldn’t have wanted to listen.

And here his kids were, asking him to explain. Sure, Dustin and Lucas were probably straight, but everyone had thought the same thing about Steve.

It couldn’t hurt for them to have more information than they needed, but it could definitely hurt for them to have less.

“Fuck it,” Steve said, “Fine. Always the goddamn babysitter.”

Robin made a squeaking sound. “Are you seriously giving them the sex talk?”

Steve nodded wearily.

“I’ll go be other there,” Robin said, gesturing at her room.

Steve caught her hand to keep her from leaving. “Absolutely not. You’re here to provide a girl’s perspective.”

“Steve, I did not sign up for this and I’m in no way qualified to give this talk.”

Steve stared at her. “And you think I am?”

“Goddamnit,” Robin huffed, conceding the point. “Fine, okay, sex talk, yay! This isn’t awkward at all.”

What followed was the most embarrassing hour of Steve’s life. He tried to start with the basics (consent, condoms) and only give the kids the absolutely essential facts, but they all asked really pointed and specific questions. Even Lucas, who Steve couldn’t imagine asking these questions in a group setting, was emboldened by Dustin and Max’s shameless questions to ask about a horrifically detailed “hypothetical” that had Max blushing and burying her face in her hands.

Dustin made Steve explain the entirety of the hanky code (“Wait, why would you wanna be the one getting fucked? How does that feel good?”), asked a million questions about Steve’s type (“Hot brunettes isn’t a type, Steve!”), and then asked for advice about how to make sure a girl was actually ready to have sex and wasn’t just doing it to rebel against her super-religious family (… uh, Robin? Any thoughts?”).

At the end of the night Steve was pretty sure that he was going to have a bright red face forever and that his hair was in disarray from how many times he’d run his hands through it, but he also felt like his kids were thoroughly prepared for any situation they might encounter.

He sent the kids use the bathroom first and started laying sheets on the couch for Dustin. He layered a few blankets on because San Francisco could get cold at night, then was handed a pillow.

“Thanks,” he said, looking up to see it was Dustin helping out.

Dustin barreled into his chest, throwing his arms around Steve in a tight hug.

Steve dropped the pillow and hugged him back.

“I miss you,” Dustin said.

“I miss you too.”

“Will you still come visit me when I’m at MIT? Even though it’s farther than Hawkins and the rest of the Party won’t be there?”

“Dustin, you haven’t even gotten in yet.”

“But will you?” Dustin asked, planting his chin on Steve’s chest to look up into Steve’s eyes. And even though Steve knew he was 17, almost a full adult, he looked just like the kid Steve had first met, wide-eyed and looking to Steve for reassurance.

“Of course,” Steve said. “I’ll be over there so much you’ll get sick of me.”

“Even though you have a job and Robin and you don’t have to drive us around everywhere anymore?”

Steve huffed. “Dude, I haven’t driven you all everywhere in years. And Robin can survive without me for a few days. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Steve said.

Dustin pulled out of the hug, giving Steve a toothy smile. Then he scowled and punched Steve’s arm. “Next time, don’t wait years to tell me something important, asshole!”

Steve grinned.

Dustin didn’t care. He wasn’t pushing Steve away for being queer. He was actually trying to make sure that Steve would stay in his life, that growing up didn’t mean Steve would leave.

Steve pulled the brim of Dustin’s cap down, earning him a disgruntled yelp.

“Alright,” Steve promised. “The next time I have a life-changing realization, you’ll be the first to know.”

Dustin smiled evilly. “Even before Robin?”

Steve froze. “I’m not picking favorites Henderson, so don’t even try it.”

Max and Lucas emerged from the bathroom and Steve gently pushed Dustin towards it, finally joining Robin in her room.

Robin was lying on the bed in her pjs, still faintly blushing from the sex talk. “I am never having kids. That was the worst, oh my god. I suddenly understand why my parents just threw a bunch of books at me and told me to figure it out.”

“I got the sex talk from health class,” Steve admitted, digging through the pile on the floor for pjs. “It was not helpful at all.”

Robin snorted. “I’m sure you learned from hands-on experience, Romeo.”

“No, but that’s my point,” Steve said. “I slept with all these girls and all of them only said nice things. I was so sure I was doing a good job, and then I date Nancy for longer than a few weeks and she’s Nancy, so she does research.”

He hissed the word and Robin sniggered. “Oh, she would.”

“She did! And then she gave me notes. Literal, physical notes, on how to do better!”

Robin laughed so hard she went quiet, rolling from side to side on the bed and clutching at her ribs.

“Robin, Robin, don’t laugh at me,” Steve pouted. “It was humiliating.”

Robin could not stop laughing. “Were the notes on flashcards?”

Steve aggressively yanked pajamas from the pile and refused to answer. The notes had been on flashcards. And they’d been color-coded into general tips and things Nancy specifically wanted to try.

Steve changed into pajamas as Robin gradually got her giggles under control.

“Hey, babe,” Robin said.

Steve looked up. “Yeah?”

She looked serious, sitting up and meeting Steve’s gaze. “I’m proud of you. You were really brave tonight. And you gave me the courage to be brave too, and I never could have imagined a few years ago that I’d be living in San Francisco with my queer best friend and platonic soulmate having an extremely embarrassing sex talk with a bunch of teenagers, but it’s kind of perfect. I kind of love it.”

Steve smiled. He never would have imagined himself here either, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. His friendship with Robin was the most important thing in his life. And his kids, his wonderful, amazing, brilliant kids, who accepted him and admired him and needed him and loved him — they were here. They’d traveled 2,000 miles just to see him.

“I kind of love it too,” Steve said.

Robin beamed. “Definitely worth a little Russian torture.”

What a weird, fucked-up metric. And Robin was still absolutely right.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #platonic stobin #the party #Steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #max mayfield #Lucas sinclair #max x lucas #mia writes fanfic #ao3 #because ao3 is down

159 notes · View notes

goosewriting · 1 year

Note

Hello, I'd like to say that I already requested some things from you but I hope you don't mind that I'm sending this in because I love your writing and I thought that you could do this request perfectly. I also noticed your requests are closing tomorrow so yeah 😭 tsym

Rise Boys x tomboy reader (gn tho obviously). It's prom night or a school dance or something at April's school. The turtles are kinda dissapointed because the reader got a date to the dance and they had a big crush on them. It's all they can think about all night until the reader shows up at the lair looking a little dejected but GOOD because they're wearing a freshly pressed black suit and tie. The turtle asks what's wrong they why they're not at the dance. They tell that they were going to go to the dance but the reader got stood up by her date and just didn't feel like going after that. After seeing how badly they had wanted to go, the turtle suggests instead of the dance, they go out for a night in the hidden city and just goof off and have fun. So that's what they do, maybe they go skating or for smoothies just the two of them having a good time. At the end of the night they sit on a rooftop watching the sun come up and the reader says "We should do this more often" basically confirming the night was a date and they'd like to do it again.🥲👏🏾 sorry this is so long 💗💗

Prom night, plan B (rottmnt x reader)

summary: reader got stood up for prom and goes to the lair instead, looking extremely fly.

relationship: Rise Leo, Raph, Donnie, Mikey x GN reader (crushing phase)

warnings: fluff!, reader’s date being a jerk, slight vandalism in Mikey’s i guess lol

word count: 2.4k

A/N: back when i got this request i squealed in glee because i love me a good ol’ reader in a suit! this one’s in my other (bulletpoints only) headcanon style again, hope it’s not too disruptive. thank you so much for your patience and i hope you like it :D

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

Someone from your class had actually asked you out to prom, and since they were the only person to do so, you had accepted. After all, you two were on good terms.

Your parents had even brought you to a proper tailor shop to get a three piece suit. Since it was made to your measurements, it fit perfectly. You couldn’t help but check yourself out in the mirror a couple of times: you looked fresh.

The morning and afternoon before prom, you felt like ants were crawling in your pants; you couldn’t sit still. You had been looking forward to this night for a while. You probably also would have gone without a date; you just wanted to have a good time with your friends. But knowing that someone was gonna come pick you up any minute made it more thrilling.

You watched the clock in your room, first with anticipation, then with worry. The time your date was supposed to be at your door was now 30 minutes in the past. If they were late, they would have texted you, right?

Again and again you watched as the clock hands slowly moved forward. You texted them a couple of times asking if everything was okay, but there was no reaction. They didn’t even see the messages. It wasn’t until almost an hour after the supposed pick-up time that you got a text, and you rushed to your phone on your bed. It was April. As you read the message and saw the attached photo, your heart dropped to your stomach.

— — —

The turtle lied in his bed, feeling a strange sense of defeat. He’s been crushing on you for a while now, and he knew that right at this moment, you’d be on the dance floor with your date, having the time of your life. He sighed loudly, wishing that could be him. The whole day he had held himself back from texting you to ask how you were doing, and how the night was going. You probably wouldn’t even check your phone. The turtle had accepted his fate, and tried to fall asleep so the day would be over quicker. Tomorrow you’d come to him to tell everything about prom night anyways. A bittersweet smile spread on his face at that thought.

As he rolled over and over on his bed in frustration, he heard footsteps entering the lair. He’d recognise those steps from miles away; it was you. With joy but also confusion at your arrival, he bolted up and went to greet you. Seeing your dejected face, he was about to ask what was wrong, but his brain stopped computing as he saw how incredible you looked.

🔵 Leo

*Jaw dropped on the ground like a cartoon*

You looked amazing!

The vest accentuated your waist and the tailored pants stylised your form, making you look taller and more slender.

The fact you were holding your jacket over your shoulder with your shirt sleeves rolled up, didn’t help either; you looked effortlessly cool.

Leo needed a second to regain his composure.

He forced his eyes up to meet your face, so as to stop shamelessly checking you out.

Your eyes were a bit glossed over; it’s clear you were about to cry.

When you told him that you got stood up for your date and showed him the photo April sent you, of your date dancing with someone else and holding them awfully close, Leo just felt angry.

How dare they leave you hanging!

And when you looked so good no less!

And either way, you so didn’t deserve that!

Leo was about to grab his swords to portal himself to school and kick this person’s butt, but then he got a better idea.

He suggested that you hang out with him instead.

Since you were now free, you agreed. You could use the distraction.

You decided to go to the Arcade in the Hidden City.

There were a couple of new games you had been wanting to check out.

The night was an absolute blast; even though you were planning on having a good time with your classmates, you were kinda glad you got stood up because you knew you had a better time with Leo in one night than your so-called “date” could give you in a lifetime.

And the fact that you won most of the games was just the cherry on top.

Leo was an adorably pouty loser.

You also hadn’t missed the way the turtle would steal glances at you, giving you a quick one-over every so often.

After almost running out of money at the Arcade, you decided to grab something to eat.

The two of you sat on a bench in the park, eating pretzels.

“Thank you for taking me out here, Leo. I’m glad the night wasn’t a total bust after all.”

“Anytime. In fact, we should do this more often, I really had a good time.”

“Me too…” you answered earnestly, turning to him.

Something in Leo’s eyes changed; his gaze was softer, lingering.

So you decided to tease him a little.

“And if you want, I can wear the suit again” you added with a little eyebrow wiggle.

You laughed and gently patted his shell as Leo choked on his pretzel, cheeks flustered.

🔴 Raph

Raph was torn between complimenting you and asking what was up.

He had no problem telling you how good you looked; he’d do it often, in hopes that one day you’d catch on that he’s actually into you.

But when you looked up at him almost in tears, his brain went into mother hen mode.

He asked what was wrong, and you told him you got stood up, showing him April’s texts.

His face contorted in anger, his fists clenched and you could see a couple of red sparks flash over his arms from his Ninpo.

If it were up to him, he’d throw hands with this jerk, no doubt.

Seeing that he was getting worked up, you put your hands on his arm to calm him down, telling him that there was no use. They probably never intended to go with you anyways.

Raph inwardly melted at your touch, immediately calming down, then announcing that it was their loss to not hang out with you.

He suggested going to the Hidden City to spend the night, since you were already dressed for an occasion, whatever it might be.

You accepted the offer, and off you two ran.

You spent the night at a ‘50s themed yokai diner, which served… interesting looking food.

But they also had the classics like eggs and waffles and fries.

For more comfort you took off your suit jacket and neatly placed it next to you on the seat.

Raph couldn’t help but blush a little at how well the vest hugged your torso at all the right places.

Tucked away in a booth, you two talked and goofed off for hours on end, stuffing your faces, almost choking on food several times because of how much you laughed.

You were still careful not to get anything on your suit though and did an excellent job.

As the night was coming to an end, you two enjoying your smoothies, Raph noticed you had gotten some whipped cream on your cheek.

Without thinking, he reached over the table and gently wiped it off your face with his thumb.

You looked at him with big eyes, abruptly stopping what you were saying, and Raph’s face went red.

As he stuttered and apologised, you told him it was okay with a slight blush of your own.

Before he could pull away, you gently put your hand over his, your cheek leaning into his touch.

“Thank you for today. We should do this more often” you said softly.

Raph’s brain all but short-circuited as he thanked the gods and the universe for what’s-their-face dumping you today so he got this chance with you.

🟠 Mikey

Mikey went to greet you in his high energy manner as always, calling your name in a sing-sang voice as he made his way to the entrance.

The first thing he said when he saw you was “woah!”, all starry-eyed, taking in your looks.

Then he approached you and asked what was wrong.

As soon as you told him you got stood up and showed him April’s texts, he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in a disapproving manner.

Being the empath of the group, he first hugged and comforted you. Physical contact like this wasn‘t rare with you two.

Then he got a mischievous grin, and you couldn't help but wonder what was going on in that mind of his.

Bringing you to his room, he showed you some new “babies“ he got: several new paint spray cans.

He was planning on painting a mural on the side of the skating ramp but this would be a much better use in his eyes, if he got to distract you for a while.

Mikey gave you a big hoodie that reached almost down your knees, so you wouldn’t get paint on your nice clothes, and then you two took off.

You spent the night going from alley to alley, from street to street, leaving little drawings here and there.

Mainly you drew little turtles in every colour you could get your hand on.

Mikey made some really cool looking hand lettering. He wrote your name, in a different style each time.

You also noticed how with every new graffiti, he seemed to add more and more hearts to your name as well.

By the time you were done with your little city tour, you found yourself hiding behind the parking lot at school.

You wondered how you had not noticed that he guided you here, but that’s how good he was at keeping your mind focused on the good time you were having with him.

Suddenly remembering the events before your little escapade, you felt sad again, but mostly just annoyed. Why did they see the need to stand you up? They could have just called.

Mikey noticed where your brain was going and made you look up across the parking lot.

You understood the plan.

In your hands: several spray cans.

In your sight: your date’s car.

In your mind: sweet revenge.

You two made quick work out of it, not writing down anything obscene or offending; just decorating the car with a lot of scribbles, flowers and animals, leaving it undamaged but very colourful.

Giggling like little kids, you two scurried off just as quickly as you had arrived.

You ended up on Albearto’s rooftop, sitting on the hoodie and munching on some pizza.

As you looked out to the city lights, you sighed in contentment.

“I had so much fun Mikey, thank you” you said.

Mikey did a theatrical bow, stating how he also had a great time.

“We should do this more often” you said, and thought to yourself: It almost felt like a date.

Judging by Mikey’s expression, you had not only said that in your mind though.

You both blushed and looked away from each other.

After some silence Mikey finally answered, almost shy:

“That can be arranged.”

🟣 Donnie

All Donnie could do when he laid eyes on you was stare.

For probably the first time in his life he was rendered speechless: you looked beyond fantastic.

Squirming a little under his intense gaze, you called his name.

Snapping out of it, Donnie asked why you were at the lair. Not that he wasn’t happy to see you. But weren’t you supposed to be elsewhere?

You told him how you got stood up out of nowhere, showing him April’s messages.

In the blink of an eye he had already formulated a masterplan in his mind about how he was gonna hack all of this person’s devices and make their existence a little more miserable.

Just by looking at Donnie’s “scheming face”, as you called it, you already knew what was going on.

With a dejected sigh you told him it wasn’t worth the trouble, and instructed him to not attack this person in any way or form.

After a couple of tries on his part to negiotiate something viable, changing the terms a little bit here and there, he finally assured you he wouldn’t do any funny business.

You knew he would probably still so something small like hack into this person’s phone and log them out of all the apps or delete a game save or something like that.

There was no stopping Donnie when he set his mind on something, after all.

For the moment, you decided you needed a distraction.

Donnie said he knew the perfect place, and took you to the Hidden City.

There was a roller skating rink, the floor being smooth wood, and you could rent skates.

You had used inline skates before, but never these ones with the wheels in a 2x2 position.

As you entered the rink, you were about to lose your balance, so you grabbed onto the first thing you could, which was Donnie’s arm.

After some awkward apologies, flustered cheeks, and him having to catch you a couple of times mid-air, you two decided that it would be easiest for you to keep your balance if you skated next to each other hand in hand.

At first it felt a little silly, but the more you skated, the more comfortable you felt in the skates, keeping your balance.

The speakers around the rink were blasting music, which faded into the next song, and you and Donnie looked at each other in glee: an 80’s banger.

He was a skilled skater, and had you twirling and dancing with him in the group of people and creatures on the rink. Never once did he let you fall or bump into someone.

Your face hurt from so much laughing, and you told him you needed a break.

Skating towards the edge of the rink, you held onto the railing and took a breather.

Coming down from your high, you turned towards Donnie, and were faced with how he was looking at you in a state you could only describe as enamored.

Did your heart just skip a beat?

Shaking that thought off your mind, you spoke first.

“I had honestly no idea a place like this existed down here. Thank you so much for bringing me Donnie, this is exactly what I needed.”

“My pleasure” he said, and seemed to hesitate for a second before adding: “In fact, I’ve actually been meaning to come here with you for a while now.”

“Then we should definitely come again.” You gave him a sincere smile, your face glowing under the flashing neon lights.

Unbeknownst to either of you, you both thought at the same time: It’s a date then.

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @koalaray, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @lovelylovelydreams

#goose feathers #rottmnt #save rottmnt #tmnt x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt raph x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #tmnt 2018 #tmnt 2018 x reader #rise of the tmnt x reader

413 notes · View notes

pleasurebuttonwrites · 8 months

Text

uh oh

Billy Russo x F!Reader | Explicit 18+ | 1.5K

Summary After a night out, all you really want to do is Billy. But your booty call doesn't turn out the way you expected.

Warnings smut, blow job, throat fucking, dub con (reader consents to giving a blow job, but isn’t given the chance to consent to throat fucking), clothes ripping, one-sided sex, unfulfilled reader, billy being a little shit, he’s messed up, fuck him at your own risk, not aspirational at all

A/N Inspired by the song "uh oh" by Tate McRae

~~~

A bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face and hangs for a moment on your jaw before it drips onto your chest. The bass blaring from the speakers beats out of time with your heart. You sip from the drink in your hand, the watery remnants of what was once a strong cocktail.

The club is stifling. The dance floor is beyond full and you’ve been dancing with this guy for the past twenty minutes, although ‘dancing’ might be generous. ‘Grinding his erection into your ass until it feels like you’ve been sitting on a bicycle all day’ might be more accurate.

You glance over at your friend, Nina. The guy she zeroed in on the moment you’d stepped through the door is currently holding her ass like his hands are the only thing that’s keeping it there, and his tongue might actually be partway down her throat.

The beat changes to something slower, more sensual and your dance partner takes that as his cue to suction his lips to your neck. It’s about all you can take.

You break away from him and make your way to Nina. “Hey! I’m going to head out. You good?” you shout into her ear to be heard over the music.

You’re not too drunk, but you are having a little trouble focusing on her when she pulls her mouth away from Prince Charming. “Yeah, I’m good! Are you going home?”

She gives you a look that says ‘you better be going home.’

“Yeah,” you say like ‘of course I am, where else would I be going?’ You’re not that convincing though and she raises her eyebrow at you.

Before she can say anything else your dance partner comes up behind you. “There you are,” he shouts at you.

You elbow him off you. “Not happening,” you yell into his face and turn back to Nina. “Text me tomorrow, okay?”

Outside, the air is only a degree or two cooler than the inside despite it being so late. You wipe the sweat from your eyes and get out your phone, thumb tapping the Uber app. You give yourself a second to rethink before typing in his address.

—

You up?

You fire off the text from the backseat of the black SUV your Uber driver rolled up in. There’s a refrigerated compartment in the back stocked with water bottles. You take a few gulps from one, then press the cool bottle to your neck.

I’m almost to your place.

You watch as ‘Delivered’ turns to ‘Read’. Three dots appear briefly, then: Door’s unlocked.

—

Billy walks into the room as you step inside. Somehow even in the middle of the night his hair is perfectly coifed. You don’t know what he’d been doing before this but it couldn’t have been sleeping. His eyes travel over you. You’re wearing a tight fitting dress with a slit up to your hip and a generous neckline. He blinks slowly, deliberately before he settles you with a stare, his jaw clenched. Those molten dark eyes. A weight deep down in your core.

“You wear that to the club?”

Nod.

“You dance with anyone?”

Nod.

“He give you that?” He lifts his chin in a gesture to your neck. You hadn’t realized the guy at the club had left a mark. You would have still come over had you known, but it somehow felt like the ground fell away beneath you and you’d plunged into a pool of sharks.

Swallow. Nod.

His voice is dark, dangerous. “Why didn’t you go home with him?”

A moment passes before you shrug.

“Tell me.”

You struggle to come up with what to say. He looks like he wants to devour you and you’re practically vibrating at the thought.

“His dick not big enough?”

Slow shake of your head.

“His breath smell?”

Shake.

“He live with his mom? He put his drinks on your tab? He dance off beat?”

Shake. Shake. Shake.

“Maybe” — he takes a step toward you and another weight presses down on your core. He reaches you in a few strides, positioning himself above you, his face mere inches away — “I’ve simply ruined you for all other dick.”

You’re staring at his lips, the sweet mint of his breath intoxicating you. He’s waiting for you to answer. When you meet his eye the possessive glint there nearly makes you flinch.

Nod.

He strikes like a viper, his kiss devouring you, his mouth soft on yours. As soon as your tongues touch the pressure that’s been building becomes unbearable and you squeeze your thighs together as hard as you can.

You sigh into his mouth when he pulls back. His fingertips trail down your body, over your hips to grip the fabric of your dress and with a firm tug, rip the slit apart. A few more tugs and your dress is ripped clean from your body leaving you standing there in bra and panties.

“I liked that dress,” you say with a cool irritation.

He breaks out that mega-watt smile, the one he uses when he gets his way. “I like it better like this.”

Billy’s thumb teasingly strokes the soft skin above the lacy band of your panties. The booze, the late hour, and his heady presence is making you pliant under him. The urge to give yourself over to him, to let him use your body, and to get lost in the pleasure of it hits you at the same time that he says, his nose in your hair, “On your knees.”

His hand on your shoulder guides you to the floor. Your knees press into the rug, the soft cushion offset by the rough fibers pricking your skin. He undoes his belt, his button, his zipper. You open your mouth, ready to receive him. The weight of him on your tongue, that silky smooth skin like the petal of a flower. Your lips stretch as you close around him, the suction pulling him deeper. Your mouth salivates heavily at the taste of him. You swirl your tongue on the underside and bob.

“Shit.” He grips your hair with one hand to slow you. “Not so fast, honey. Take your time.”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes, looking for the affirmation that you’re doing it the way he likes.

When you look at him like that, when you submit to him like that, it awakens his never-too-far-from-the-surface predatory instinct. He usually liked it slow, liked to see how long someone was willing to service him. But when you texted tonight, well, his dick got hard just from the sight of your name popping up on his phone. And now your pretty eyes are gazing up at him so willing. He wanted to see just how far you were willing to go.

His eyes on yours, he takes a half step forward placing himself more above than in front of you, tilting your face up with the hand still threaded through your hair, he starts to use his hips, meeting your forward motion to make you take him deeper. At first you keep gazing at him with that enticing stare, but when he hits the back of your throat and you gag, those pretty eyes widen with alarm.

Which does nothing to slow Billy, if anything it spurs him on. You hardly notice that the tears — stinging your eyes only moments ago — are now dripping over your cheeks as you struggle to relax your throat. He’s trying to hold back, let you get used to it, but his hips have another idea: make you take everything he’s got.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the onslaught. Your world reduced to the stretch in your lips, the gluck in your throat. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he reaches his zenith. The shouts that are ripped from him are like music to your ears. You feel his balls tighten on your chin as he unloads directly in your throat.

Your lungs take a great gasping breath when he pulls from you. You blink away the tears, and gaze up at him, a fire in your eyes, the burn of his cum in your throat. Some of his hair is sticking up and the sweat rolls down his face. He looks like he can hardly support himself on legs turned to jello.

It’s a sight to see such a pretty man come undone.

No sooner do you decide to drag him to the ground and sit on his face than he slicks his hair back, seeming to regain his composure in a second. Then he casually checks his watch. “I gotta be up in five hours.”

It’s all the explanation he gives before zipping up his pants and heading for the hall.

“Billy, the fuck?” you lob at him, a rasp in your voice, still on your knees next to your ruined dress.

He pauses to look at you. “Oh,” he says as if remembering. “There’re coats in the closet. Help yourself.”

~~~

A/N So, um, I may write a follow up to this. Would y'all want that?

#billy russo #billy russo fic #billy russo smut #billy russo fanfic #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x reader

136 notes · View notes

whatsnewalycat · 1 year

Text

Designated Person | Chapter 5

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 5: Fever

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 8.7k+

Content / Warnings: Reader POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, food, viral infection (influenza), respiratory infection, hospitalization, asthma, inhaler, bb girl gets sick, frankie gets to mother hen a little, fever dream, alcohol, bar, heavy angst, not a universe where covid-19 existed, manipulation

Notes: Hey, buddy. If there are any inaccuracies in the realm of medical science and hospitals and all that jazz, let's collectively ignore that, ok? Perfect. Thank you for reading!!!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

Yesterday afternoon, after Emmaleigh returned from school, she complained that her whole body hurt. Alarm bells went off in your head. You studied her face and noticed that her cheeks were rosy and she looked dazed.

“Are you feeling ok?” you asked, pressing the back of your hand to her hot, sweaty forehead. A grimace rolled across your face, “You’re burning up, Em.”

She barely mumbled a response, then trudged over to the couch and laid down.

The boys were soon to join her, getting lethargic as their temperatures skyrocketed. All three Howard children took turns coughing their sickness into the air. You did your best to stay away from their germs while you accommodated them, but should have known that the future was already percolating in your immune system.

“I’ll work from home tomorrow,” Marla told you when she got home, “I just hope they didn’t get you sick.”

Well, guess what?

They got you fucking sick.

It started with small things: a tight soreness in your throat, aches shooting from deep within your muscles like you did a full body workout the day before.

When Frankie walked through the front door, he took one look at you in your blanket cocoon on the couch, then at the TV playing King of the Hill, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I think my kids got me sick,” you informed him. The words tickled. A coughing fit erupted in from your chest.

His boots clunked to the floor, one at a time, as he probed, “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” you shook your head, then swallowed the thickness in your throat.

“Are you sure?” he took a few steps towards you, narrowing his gaze, “You look like shit.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” you deadpanned.

He approached the couch, brought the back of his hand to your forehead, and grumbled, “You feel warm.”

“Oh my god. I’m fine,” you groaned, pulling the blanket over your head, “Go away before I get you sick.”

Frankie sighed and retreated into his bedroom.

When you woke up this morning, the sky outside was still dark. You were still on the couch, wrapped up in your blanket. A layer of sweat lined your skin, but you shivered from the perceived cold.

It felt like a fucking Mack truck hit you.

The first deep morning breath to stretch your lungs caused them to seize. A fit of coughs ripped your body in half. You sat up, struggling to draw breath between each new wave of coughing.

Frankie wobbled into the living room, wearing just a pair of navy blue boxers, his hair all sleep-mussed, as he sat down beside you and smoothed his palm against your back. His groggy morning voice rumbled from his throat, “You ok?”

Your entire respiratory tract felt constricted. The tempo of your heart hastened. You shook your head back and forth, shoulders jumping with each cough, and put one hand up in the shape of an L, curling your pointer finger down repeatedly.

“Do you need your inhaler?” he asked.

You nodded and managed to gasp out, “Purse—room—”

He jumped to his feet and rushed out of the room and returned a few moments later, elbow deep in your ratty canvas tote bag, muttering under his breath, “How the fuck do you find anything in here?”

Finally, he pulled the inhaler out and you snatched it from him, shaking it for a moment before popping the cap off and sealing your lips around the mouth piece. You inhaled a few puffs of albuterol and felt it start to take effect, lungs calming, shifting their violent spasms into smaller, more manageable hiccups.

Frankie sat down next to you and rubbed your back in slow, soothing motions. It should have felt good, but the gentle touch sent ripples of pain across your skin. You whimpered, “Everything hurts.”

“You’re not going to work today,” he declared.

“No,” you confirmed, “Marla is with them. Don’t have to go.”

“I’m staying with you,” he said then.

You pouted, shoulders slumping as you looked over at him, “Don’t—”

Sternness creased his forehead, “It’s not a question.”

“I can take care of myself,” you protested weakly.

He raised his eyebrows and blinked at you, as if to reaffirm that this was non-negotiable.

“Fine,” you murmured in defeat.

A small, victorious smile crossed his face, “Atta girl.”

> MARLA: > We all tested positive for Influenza B, FYI. How are you feeling?

< ME: < I think I caught it :(

“It’s the flu,” you inform Frankie in a croaky murmur.

His eyes don’t part from the TV when he says, “Told ya.”

You want to shoot a glare at him, but find your energy reserves depleted. The bones in your wrist cry out when you tuck the phone beneath your pillow. A whine squeaks from your raw, tight throat.

“Do you wanna lay down in your room? Might be comfier there,” he suggests.

“No TV,” you grumble.

His mouth folds into a thoughtful frown. He taps his fingers against his lips, then looks over at you, “I can set it up in there.”

You study his face, “Really?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, then rises to his feet, “Need help getting up?”

“No,” you insist, but when you sit upright, your head starts to spin and throb. With a pathetic whimper, you pinch the bridge of your nose.

Frankie stares down at you expectantly, but a spin cycle tumbles your brain in its centrifuge. You can’t stop it. He holds his hand out, a wordless offer of assistance.

You swat it away.

Frustration boils your blood. A wave of wet coughs bubbles up your throat.

I don’t want your fucking help. I can do this myself. I don’t fucking need you.

You try to stand, but your legs are wobbly and collapse under pressure. Your hands ball into fists and you hit the couch cushion on either side of you as hard as you can, which isn’t very hard, then choke out between coughs, “I—fucking—hate this—”

Frankie’s face sags with pity, “Do you need—”

“No!” you try to yell with authority, but it comes out this pitiable, gurgling, wheezy word that crushes your spirit.

Your shoulders shake from the force of your coughing. You slump over into yourself and bury your face in your hands.

Frankie returns to his seat beside you and hands you the inhaler from the coffee table. You grab it and take a few puffs, then try to calm down as the albuterol works at your inflamed airway.

“We should go see the doctor,” he says quietly.

You manage to meet his gaze and pout. His eyes are pleading, but you shake your head, “I’m fine.”

“You can barely breathe—”

“I’m fine,” you repeat.

His jaw cocks to the side and he grumbles, “You’re so fucking stubborn, you know that?”

“Never heard that before—” you take a gulp of air, “in my life.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he chuckles, then stands again, “Ready?”

You nod and get to your feet, the sweat-drenched throw blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape as you tiptoe through the house, to your bedroom, where you collapse on top of your covers.

Frankie talks to you while he gets everything set up, muttering things about fevers and breathing. Your eyes follow him as he does this, but you ignore his reminders to drink from the water bottle on your side table and take the Tylenol he set next to it, because you’re pretty sure he’s not even real.

After getting the TV set up, he turns it on and resumes your King of the Hill marathon. He makes you sit up to take the Tylenol and chase it with a half a bottle of water, then leaves for a few minutes. He returns holding your phone in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other.

You grimace at both items, but take your phone. Frankie sets the steaming bowl of soup on your nightstand and asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

“Aren’t you—” you yawn, cough, then finish your sentence, “worried you’ll get sick?”

He frowns and shakes his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, “I got a flu shot.”

Your skepticism must be etched into your face, because shifts his weight to one leg and explains further, “Angie makes us get them every year.”

“She’s so responsible,” you admire.

He shifts his weight to the other leg and runs a hand through his messy hair. Your head swims, and again, you’re struck by the sense that this isn’t real. You’re flattened into 2D. A flipbook cartoon. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion and far away.

“I get it. Why you chose her,” you mumble breathlessly, snuggling in closer to your pillow and blanket, letting your eyelids flutter closed, “So pretty, and fun, and has her shit together,” a cough interrupts you, and when you regain your stamina, you hum, “She’s awesome. I get it.”

Frankie doesn’t say anything, but as you’re drifting to sleep, you feel him tug your covers out from underneath you and tuck you into bed.

When your eyes open again, the room is much darker. You sit upright and look around. Everything seems familiar, yet completely foreign. Your bedroom, but veiled. Hazy, almost.

And quiet.

So fucking quiet that your pulse echoes in your head.

“Frankie?” you call out into the darkness of your open doorway.

He doesn’t respond.

Unease settles in your gut, heavy and hard. A boulder lodged in your intestines. You swing your feet over the side of your bed and press the soles of your feet against the hardwood floor. The floorboards creak when you tiptoe across the dimly-lit room to the doorway.

Then you pause and study it.

It looks ominous for some reason. Bigger than it should be.

As you step through it, you move through a slick, shiny membrane, which gives way to your entry with little resistance. It leaves a gummy residue on your skin. You try to wipe the remnants from your arms, grimacing at how viscous the clear fluid feels against your hands.

This is when you notice your surroundings are no longer dark. You squint up and look around.

Sunlight pours in through a windowed dome that stretches high above you. Beyond it lies a long, glass tunnel. Moisture from the humid air settles on your skin atop the layer of doorway residue.

Trees and bushes of all shapes and sizes fill the space. Some with thick, waxy leaves. Some adorned with colorful, blooming flowers. Crowds of faceless people mull about on a terracotta path that winds through the enclosure. None of them seem to notice you standing there in your pajamas.

The butterflies notice you, though.

Monarchs, tiger-like stripes sectioning off orange, their wings tipped with a thick black outline and dots of white. Paper Kites, their chalky white wings appearing luminous in the sunshine, black spots and stripes contrasting the bright glow. Owl butterflies, huge by comparison, their wings decorated with circular patterns in many shades of brown.

Dozens of others flutter around you, a wide variety of species, each one breathtaking in their own right. A few land on your arm when you hold it up.

You smile, then the familiarity of this place dawns on you. The butterfly house.

Frankie took you here occasionally when you were still together. Sometimes with Sarah, sometimes without. Far enough away from Kissimmee and Orlando that he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew.

When the two of you were here, it felt like you were a normal couple. He held your hand while you walked the paths. Murmured sweet nothings into your ear as you marveled at the foliage and butterflies.

Your attention snags on something in the path ahead of you, yanking you from your bittersweet nostalgia.

A white t-shirt stretched across his broad, hunched-up shoulders. Dark curls poking out from beneath his ragged hat. His slightly off-kilter, halting gait as he pushes a stroller in the opposite direction.

“Frankie!” you call.

He doesn’t react. Nobody reacts.

You start after him, calling his name over and over again, but he doesn’t turn towards your voice. Your stomach starts to churn. Swollen, gray clouds roll across the sky and tone the conservatory a dim, moody gray.

“Frankie, what the fuck?!” you pant when you catch up to him, vocal chords wavering, giving away the state of your frayed nerves. You grab his arm and spin him around, then take a step back.

It’s not Frankie.

The older man before you has a thick white mustache brimming his frail, wrinkled lips. His shortly-trimmed white hair stands straight up from his scalp. You have to crane your neck up to meet his cold, gray eyes.

The smile that stretches across his face churns your stomach. Goosebumps prick your skin.

Your eyes flick from his to the stroller.

It’s empty.

You shake your head, taking another step back. Hot tears pool in your eyes and turn the world around you blurry.

When you look back to the man, he seems even taller. Your heart hammers in your chest. One message broadcasts through your brain: GET THE FUCK OUT.

You retreat backwards. Only a few slow steps at first, but your feet pick up the pace quickly when you see his arms.

His fucking arms.

They stretch after you, but his body doesn’t move.

Panic spikes your bloodstream.

You sprint in the opposite direction, away from him, your feet pounding against the empty pathway. Everything is dark now. Like the sun burnt out.

His slender fingers dig into your arms. He clenches down, pulling you back towards him, dragging you over the terracotta pathway as you struggle to escape, screaming, “No no no, No! NO! N—”

Your body starts to shake, then your eyes snap open and meet Frankie’s, all wide and glazed with distress. He’s hovering above you, hands on your shoulders, his voice hoarse as he whispers, “Hey, are you ok?”

When you meet his gaze and understand that he’s real, your face crumbles, and you try to sob with relief, but your breath catches in your throat. Your hands fly to your neck. The gasps that are able to pass through the constricted airway are shallow.

It feels like you’re a fish out of water.

He grabs your inhaler from the nightstand and shakes it, flinging the cap off with one hand as the other guides you to sit up. You take a few puffs, and it makes it easier, but your throat is still tight. Lungs still feel three times too small.

“We’re going to the hospital.”

It’s not a plea, or a question, or a request like it was earlier. He’s making a statement of fact.

He marches from the room and comes back with the straps of your purse held up in a stranglehold, “Is your insurance card in here?”

You nod and swallow hard. It hurts like your throat is an open wound. Tears burn behind your eyes and roll down your cheeks. Your breaths come in short little wheezes that unleash a flood of adrenaline into your heart.

“Ok,” he says, strides to the nightstand, throws your inhaler and cell phone inside, slings the cross-body strap over his shoulder, and looks at you.

His face droops momentarily and his eyes get all watery and red, then he hardens his features and tells you, “It’s gonna be ok, sweetheart, ok?”

You shake your head and open your mouth to let your worries spill from your lips, but nothing comes out except a gasp for oxygen.

“Right now I just need you to try and stay calm. I know it’s hard but you have to try, alright?”

His voice is low and quivering. You search his face and understand that he’s worried, too, so you nod.

“Ok, let’s go, mamacita,” he rumbles.

You want to tell him that he can’t drive. That he can’t risk going to fucking jail because of you. But you don’t. You can’t.

Frankie pulls the blankets back and the air feels like ice against your skin. Shivers shoot across your body, making your teeth chatter. He lifts you from the bed with a groan. You hook your arms around his neck and try your hardest to hold on.

When you get to the Emergency Room, you’re barely coherent, so Frankie fills out the intake paperwork for you. He talks to the triage nurse, who brings you back to be checked out.

Everything sort of blurs from there.

The nurses check your vitals, take some swabs, and ask a bunch of questions that, between your foggy mind and Frankie, are mostly answered. A doctor comes in and talks to the two of you, returning shortly thereafter to advise that you’re being admitted to the hospital for overnight treatment and observation.

You’re wheeled to another department and hooked up to an IV, an oxygen tank, and all kinds of different monitors. Your hospital room is like a revolving-door of medical personnel, but Frankie holds steadfast by your side throughout the chaos.

During a moment of quiet, when just the two of you remain in the room, you look at him.

He sits in a squeaky armchair he pulled up next to your bed, elbows resting on his knees, chin propped up in his palm, staring up at the TV as he flips through the limited channels on hospital cable.

You swallow, then clear your throat and croak out, “Frankie?”

His eyebrows shoot up and he turns to meet your eyes in question.

“Can you—hand me—my phone?”

“Yeah,” he leans over to grab your purse off the couch, sifting through it for a moment before fishing out your cell phone and handing it to you.

When you grab it from him, your hand drops to your side. You blink slowly at the sight, unable to comprehend why you can’t lift it. Your brow furrows and you frown at Frankie, whose features are all creased with concern.

“Do—do you need help?” he asks.

It’s like your bones are both weightless and infinitely dense. Your head is swimming but a deep fatigue keeps you pinned to the bed. You manage to nod.

He plucks the phone from your tenuous grasp and probes further, “Do you… want me to text people to let them know?”

You nod.

“Sisters, brother, Mom, Dad, all them?”

You nod.

“Marla?”

You nod.

“Rory?”

You scrunch up your nose and shrug.

“Anyone else? Friends?”

You pause to think about this, but mostly you’re just thinking about how sad it is that your only friends that aren’t family are him and Marla. You shake your head, then furrow your brow and rasp, “Ralph?”

“I told him what’s going on already,” he informs you, then inquires, “What’s—uh, what’s your passcode?”

Your shoulders slump and your guts twist when you realize you have to tell him this embarrassing information. Something you never thought he’d have an opportunity to discover. You swallow hard, wincing at the pain from your tight throat muscles, then admit, “07–25–19”

He searches your face as his brow creases, eyes softening into a pained expression, “Sarah’s birthday?”

All you can do is shrug. A testament to how pathetic you feel.

He holds your gaze for another beat, then drops it to your phone and starts tapping away. You let fatigue curl around your consciousness and drift off into sleep.

Occasionally you wake and hear him talking to someone, either to a person on the phone or to hospital staff in the room. Once, you wake and think he’s talking to himself, his forehead pressed against his clasped hands.

Later, you swear you hear a doctor tell Frankie, “Your wife seems to be stable, but we will have to keep her for a few days to continue treatment.”

Your eyes blink open and you see Frankie nod in acknowledgment, then ask, “Is she gonna be ok?”

“She’ll be just fine,” comes the response, and you watch tension melt from his shoulders.

You want to stay awake, to ask him questions like: A few days? and Did the doctor just call me your fucking wife?

More so, you desperately want to reach out and hold his hand. You want to tell him you’ll be ok, to thank him for taking care of you. To thank him for caring at all.

But your body holds you hostage. Your joints are all super glued in place. Muscles disconnected from your brain. A weight bears down on you, tugging at your eyelids, lulling you back to sleep.

The next time you wake, the room is dark and quiet.

First, you hear the equipment hooked up to your body. The faint beeping of monitors. Gears whizzing and turning, the buzz of machines at work.

Then, you hear a snore. You turn and see Frankie still sitting in the armchair at your bedside. Your heart jumps in your chest and your throat lets out a little yelp of surprise.

Frankie starts awake at the noise, his legs jerking upwards in reaction, falling from their place propped up on your hospital bed. A stiff beige blanket falls from his chest as he sits up straight. He takes a deep breath, which you envy, and looks around the room, then blinks sleepily at you.

“Hi,” you whisper. It comes out scratchy and dry. The tickle in your throat makes you start coughing. Every heaving, choked breath shoots a wave of pain across your body.

He grabs a hard plastic water bottle with the hospital’s logo printed across the center and holds it in front of you. You lean forward to seal your lips around the straw, take half a dozen big swallows of ice cold water, then lay back.

“That was fucking awesome,” you gasp. For the first time since you’ve been admitted, it doesn’t feel like something is actively squeezing the air from your lungs.

Frankie chuckles at this, then brings himself closer to meet your eyes in the darkness, asking you in a low, quiet voice, “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I could run a mile,” you joke.

He smiles wide and genuine, dimples pricking his cheeks, and shakes his head, “There she is.”

Warmth spreads across your chest and you hum, reaching out to him with your non-intubated hand. He takes it in his own, grazing his thumb across your knuckles as he sighs, “You scared the shit out of me today.”

“Sorry,” you murmur. Your eyes meet his and hold steady. There’s a spark of something in the space between you. It’s sweet and meaningful and makes your bones buzz. Like a battery clicks into place and completes the circuit.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then shuts it when a nurse toddles into the room. Your heart jumps like she caught you in the middle of doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing. On instinct, you drop Frankie’s hand and look at her with wide eyes.

The plump, middle-aged woman just gives you a cheery smile and says, “Oh, you’re up! Do you mind if I turn the lights on and check you out?”

You shrug, “Sure.”

Frankie excuses himself to go to the bathroom. The nurse takes your blood pressure and presses a stethoscope to your bare back through the parted hospital gown, humming and noting her findings in your chart. She checks all the readings on the machines you’re hooked up to and jots those down as well.

She leaves for a moment to get a new bag of IV fluid. You glance around the sterile, sad looking room. It holds an air of faux comfort. Mass-produced landscape artwork framed on the wall, furniture all upholstered in a shiny, pastel green fabric, countertops and floors as white and spotless as porcelain.

You squint at something on a tabletop in the corner. A vase of yellow roses. The nurse re-enters the room and hangs the bag of clear fluid on your IV pole.

You blink at the flowers a few times, just to make sure you’re not imagining them, then ask her, “Are those for me?”

The nurse’s face twists up in amusement at your question, and she snorts, “No, they’re for the other sick girl.”

Her sarcasm is justified.

Frankie walks back into the room then, and you ask, “Who sent those?”

“Rory,” he tells you, crossing paths with the nurse as she leaves.

Your lip curls, “Oh.”

“Christ, do you even like him?” he chuckles, but studies your face in a serious way that makes you think he genuinely wants to know.

The answer would require more breath than you’re able to give at the moment.

Rory.

You should like him. Hell, you should be falling head over heels for him. He’s dedicated, confident, loyal, respectful, and attractive. His dick is big and he knows how to use it. He takes you out on dates and performs chivalrous gestures, like holding doors open, pulling your chair out, and bringing you flowers.

He checks off so many boxes. But you don’t feel that spark, that thing, that Diane Barrows talked about in It Takes Two:

That can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars over the fence, world series kind of love.

That’s what you want.

And every time you see Rory, you think maybe it’ll change, that he’ll grow on you, but your discomfort in his presence only seems to get worse. You think you should probably dump him, but you’re not sure if it’s the right call or not.

Because what if you’re just so used to the exhilaration of your toxic relationship with Frankie, that you don’t yet understand how it feels to be treated right? What if you’re just in need of repair? What if you just need to learn to be in a normal relationship?

Because what if Rory is the last chance you have for someone to love you?

So, instead of answering Frankie’s question, you observe, “That chair looks uncomfortable.”

“Correct, it’s really fucking uncomfortable,” he nods and lets out a little chuckle.

Your teeth catch on your tongue and you clamp down on it a few times as you consider this, then release it and tell him quietly, “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know,” he leans forward, pressing his fingers to his lips, and shrugs, “I—I want to, though.”

Your heart skips a beat. Heat bubbles up the middle of you, creeping up your neck, onto your cheeks.

You reach out and take his hand in yours, then pull it closer. He lets you do this, and his brows knit together as he stares down at your interlaced fingers. Neither of you say anything. You wriggle onto your side and yawn. Fatigue sinks into your muscles and tugs at your eyelids.

“I don’t think I’d trust myself to be there while you're here,” he admits after a while.

You blink your eyes all the way open and study his face, “Why not?”

Frankie shrugs, “You’d be here alone. I’d have no idea what the hell is going on with you,” he scoffs and shakes his head, “Fuck that.”

A sleepy smile stretches across your face, “You’re sweet.”

He doesn’t say anything, just grins and holds your gaze. Your stomach flips and you ask, “Wanna sleep up here?”

“I’m good here,” he responds with a yawn, pulling the scratchy looking blanket up to his chin as he kicks his feet up onto your hospital bed, “Thanks, though.”

It sort of makes you sad, but your eyes flutter closed and you murmur, “You’d get tangled up anyway.”

“What?” he laughs.

“The tubes,” you explain, “Fuckin’ everywhere.”

He snorts and squeezes your hand. Silence settles over the room. Your mind wanders to the fragments of conversations you overheard between intervals of sleep.

“Frankie,” you murmur.

He grunts in response.

“Did you tell them—that we’re married?”

It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re not sure he’s still awake, until he says, “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want them to make me leave,” he says.

You hum in acknowledgment. Ignore your heart’s stuttering beat.

“Wha’d my family say?”

“Everyone said they hope you feel better soon. Asked us to keep them posted. Leah’s gonna call to see how you’re doing tomorrow.”

You yawn and nod, then ask, “Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“You tryin’ to get rid of me?” he chuckles softly.

“Mmm no,” you tug at your clasped hands and tuck them under your cheek, “But, Sarah—”

“It’s fine, mariposa. Just get some rest.”

The nickname twists your stomach like a dishrag. You haven’t heard it cross his lips in ages. The one he used in those tender moments where you felt him let you into his heart. Only to be shoved away at the next given opportunity.

Fuck, it was like clockwork.

There was one day you were laying next to him in his bed, in the spot his wife slept each night. He traced your naked body with his fingertips and rumbled, “You’re the only one who understands me, mariposa.”

His eyes were warm and glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. When he met your gaze, you saw something there. Adoration etched into his features, radiating through his touch as it skated across your skin.

“Really?” you breathed.

He searched your face and nodded solemnly. Drew you closer and kissed your lips. Your chest ached deep and wide with love.

Not a crush. Not lust. Not infatuation.

Real, true, pure fucking love.

So you told him.

“I love you.”

His touch ceased. He pulled back, furrowing his brow. You watched his face shift from confusion, to surprise, to worry.

Then he shook his head and whispered, “I… can’t.”

It felt like you were dropped from a 10-story building and pancaked onto the sidewalk. Your nerves started to buzz and twist. You didn’t know what to do, how to convey the panic building in your chest. So you stared at him.

“You—you know we can’t be together like that,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring like the words he was saying weren’t ripping you apart, his wide eyes frantically scanning your face, “Right? I mean, I’m—I’m married, and Angie—I love her—”

The knife in your gut twisted.

“I know,” you nodded, flashing a reassuring smile, but rolled out of bed and started to get dressed, facing away from him so he couldn’t see the tears brimming your eyelids.

“Come on, you knew what you were getting into when this started.”

Salt in your wounds.

Obviously you knew he was married, and he never made you promises of running away together. But you really thought that this was more to him than sex.

You swore you felt it.

When it was just the two of you, he would joke with you, and cuddle with you, and kiss your forehead, and hold your hand, and tell you things… intimate things.

Things about his upbringing. About his absent, alcoholic father, and his mother who did her best but struggled desperately. How he was an only child split between households when his mom finally had enough and divorced his dad.

He told you about his time in the service, time he spent overseas fighting a war for his country, then for the highest bidder. How he took lives, destroyed communities, and sold years of his life to make the rich even richer.

He told you about how, just a year prior to that afternoon in his bed, he went on an independent mission to South America with his brothers in arms. It went tits up. He watched one of his best friends get shot in the fucking head. They had to drag his body through the Andes, along with millions of dollars seized from a drug kingpin. Most of the money was lost, and the residual earnings of this expedition were given to the deceased’s family.

He told you about how, he realized afterwards, the cost wasn’t worth it. The value of his friend’s life exceeded that of anything they would have brought home.

He told you this in a matter-of-fact way. His voice was calm, shoulders level, back straight. And his eyes… they were so far away. Like he was there again.

You recognized yourself in his detached gaze. In the subtle tensing of his body.

You thought his telling you these things meant he trusted you with them. You thought him telling you these things meant he was placing his heart in your hands.

And there were other things.

He held you like he was abandoned at sea and you were a life-preserver buoying him to the surface of choppy waves. He kissed you like he was starved for affection. Fucked you like it was his last day on Earth.

You thought it meant something to him.

This is it, you thought, this is love.

That can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars over the fence, world series kind of love.

You were astounded that you could have read him so wrong. Of all the things you’ve been uncertain of in life, you genuinely didn’t think this was one of them. It flipped your worldview upside down.

You felt naïve. Foolish.

Of course he can’t love you.

Of course he doesn’t love you.

“I know,” you managed to choke out while pulling your shirt over your head.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying to get you to look at him.

“It’s ok, Frankie, really,“ you shook your head and tucked your hair behind your ear, then tiptoed into the bathroom, where you allowed yourself to cry silently for five minutes.

When you emerged, he was sitting on the couch drinking whiskey. Sarah was still napping. You sequestered yourself in the kitchen, painfully aware of Frankie’s presence in the next room.

When Angie got home, he kissed her hello right in front of you. Made a big show of it.

And you hated her.

Envy is probably more accurate than hate, you think, in retrospect. At the time, all you knew was it seared your insides like hellfire when he touched her. You wanted to dig your fingernails into her cheeks and rip her pretty face right off of her skull.

You picked up your purse and plastered on a mask of neutrality, “Well, I’m off. Have a good weekend, guys.”

It almost slipped when your gaze caught on Frankie’s. He wore this pained expression like this hurt for him, too.

You broke eye contact and rushed out the door to your car. Once inside, you screamed at the top of your lungs into the steering wheel. Your throat burned raw with territorial rage, and rejection, and heartbreak.

You kept thinking of that fucking look on his face. That fucking nickname. His faux intimacy. Your stupidity in thinking he felt the same as you.

On your way home, you went to your favorite spot, Bubba’s.

The establishment’s owner and namesake, Bubba, was working, as he often was on Friday nights. You selected one of the many empty barstools and sat down, running your hands over your face, releasing a deep sigh.

Bubba nodded in your direction, “Whiskey coke?”

His voice was gravelly and carried bass from deep in his chest.

“Yeah,” you muttered and dug your phone from your purse, then sent a text to Leah, and another to Marlene, telling them about the recent turn of events in your pathetic life.

Bubba kept his sharp blue eyes on you as he made your drink, burning a hole into your profile. You noticed, and bunched your fist against your face, trying to conceal your puffy eyelids, your wet cheeks, your shaky breath.

“Do I needta kick someone’s ass, er what?” he asked as he placed your whiskey coke on a coaster in front of you. Bubba laced his wiry gray eyebrows together and leaned against the bar, beer belly pressing into the counter.

You snorted at him and shook your head, avoiding his gaze by looking up at the sports news show on the TV, “I’m fine.”

“Ok,” he shrugged in a disbelieving manner, “You just let me know if you need anythin’, darlin’.”

“Sure thing,” you murmured, raising the straw to your lips.

When your phone started ringing, you were three drinks deep. Your mind was starting to bend and blur, the booze supplying a much needed reprieve from reality.

Your heart stuttered when you saw his name populate your phone screen. Then your face flushed with indignation.

“What?” you answered in an icy tone.

“Where are you?” he asked. His words were all huddled together. Spoken too close to the speaker. He was drunk.

“Why do you care?” you scoffed.

“Needta talkta you about somethin’,” he mumbled, “Where are you?”

“You sound shitfaced, Frankie,” you frowned at your empty drink, stabbed the ice with your straw, then looked around and locked eyes with Bubba. He nodded in acknowledgement and started to make you a new drink.

“Jus—jus—jus, shut the fuck up and tell me where you are—”

“Hey, fuck you,” you yelled in return, unable to stop the rage from bubbling up inside you.

A big sigh crackled over the speaker, then he adjusted his tone to something less severe, “Sorry—soooo sorry, sweetheart. But I needta talk to you, please.”

“You’re talking to me now, Francisco.”

There was a long pause, then he mumbled, “I wanna see you.”

“You’re not driving.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I miss you.”

Tightness radiated across your chest. Heat tingled up your throat, into your sinuses. You swallowed hard.

“Please, baby,” he croaked, “Please.”

“Bubba’s,” you sighed, then hung up.

Frankie strode through the door ten minutes later. His movements were overly fluid, spilling over the edges of his body’s limits when he came to sit next to you, “Hey.”

Bubba eyed Frankie from afar, but didn’t approach him to ask if he wanted a drink.

“Please tell me you didn’t drive here,” you hissed, searching his face.

“I didn’t drive here,” he grinned, crossing his arms, leaning forward onto the bar.

“Frankie—” you protested.

“No, wait—wait, listen,” he grabbed your hand and kissed your palm.

You winced at the sharp pain that twisted your heart. He didn’t notice, just pressed your unresponsive hand against his cheek, against the grain of his patchy beard, and drew his eyebrows together, “I’m sorry.”

“You already said that,” you blinked.

“Don’t be mad at me, sweetheart,” his voice was raspy and low as he searched your face with those puppy dog eyes that tugged at your heart strings, “Please, I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

You released a heavy sigh, “I’m not mad at you, Frankie. I just—I don’t know, I thought…”

Your shoulders slumped as you dropped your gaze to your drink.

“Hey,” he squeezed your hand, kissed your palm, and pressed it against his cheek again, “What we have’s really special to me. But I—”

“Can’t, I know,” you mumbled and pulled your hand away.

He cocked his jaw back and forth, then leaned closer and asked, “So is this it then? Are you done with me?”

You knew that if you said yes and he’d accept it. This would be over and you could walk away with your dignity still intact. You could find a new job and gracefully bow out of the Morales household.

You knew that if you said yes you’d never have him again. Never again would you feel the heat of his desire, or hear the joy of his laughter, or taste the sweetness of his affection. You knew that you’d be forfeiting any chance to make him fall in love with you.

It was so desperate and raw, the way you wanted him to love you.

“I should be the one asking you that,” you rolled your head on your shoulders to look at him.

He held your gaze and furrowed his brow, “Why would I be done with you?”

You scoffed, “Because I’m apparently a fucking idiot.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re not an idiot,” he groaned, then draped his arm around the back of your barstool, leaning close, “You are clever, and—and beautiful, and—”

His compliments flipped your stomach upside down. You raised your eyebrows, “Ok—”

“Shhh,” he pressed a finger to your lips, “Let me finish.”

You swatted his hand away playfully, while he just grinned and leaned closer, “And sweet, and generous, and funny, and kind of a fucking brat, honestly—”

“Excuse me?!” you gasped.

“—But I like that about you! I do. You’re fucking amazing,” he told you, and by now his breath was hot against your cheek, and he murmured, “I don’t want you to go anywhere, sweetheart. I mean that.”

You met his gaze and held it. A palpable energy flowed between his body and yours. His eyes flicked down to your lips and a rumble sounded from the back of his throat.

Then he kissed you. It was this slow, lingering kind of kiss that only made you want more. You balled his shirt in your fist and tugged at it, kissing him deeper, harder, more urgent.

Kissing was like that with him. Hungry. Passionate. Thrilling.

He stood from the barstool to get closer to you, to get a better angle against your lips. His fingertips dug into your waist and filled you with a hot, gooey ache.

“Stay with me tonight,” you breathed against his mouth, “Please.”

He nodded, “I can do that.”

It would happen almost every time. You would misread his affection and lust for love, get too deep, pry yourself open. Only for him to remind you of your place in his life: a mistress.

That’s all you were.

And now… you’re friends.

These heated sparks of something more you think you feel from him, it’s wishful thinking.

You let go of his hand and roll over to face the opposite direction.

When you’re sure you hear his breathing slow to a pattern indicative of sleep, you release the hurt held hostage in your body. The way you allow yourself to cry is cautious and guarded. Quiet, metered sniffles as tears roll hot down your cheeks. Only once do you lose yourself, choking out an audible sob that thankfully doesn’t seem to wake him.

You’re not sure exactly when, but eventually, exhaustion wins over your agitated body and you drift into unconsciousness.

Leah calls you sometime after breakfast and your AM antiviral infusion, but before lunch. When she calls, the room is vacant. Frankie is out with Benny, who’s giving him a ride to your house so he can grab some things.

“Hey,” you answer.

“Hey, how are you?” Her voice is honeyed and sympathetic. It makes you crinkle your nose.

“Good,” you answer reflexively, then backtrack, “Well, not good. Y’know.” You laugh nervously and it catches in your throat, making you cough.

When it ceases, Leah asks, “Do you know when you’ll get discharged?”

“Probably tomorrow. If I keep getting better,” you tell her, looking up at the old game show playing on TV, then admit, “It was spooky.”

“It sounds like it. Frankie was freaking out when I talked to him.”

You frown, “He was?”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, then stops and says, “Sorry, it’s not funny.”

“No, it’s hilarious that I–couldn’t breathe,” you scoff and roll your eyes, then inquire further, “How was he freaking out?”

“Well, I told him I’m a nurse, right? And he just starts asking me all these questions about asthma, and the flu, and asking if he waited too long to take you, all that,” she stops and takes a sip of, what you’re assuming is, coffee, then continues, “It was kind of sweet.”

You hum and nod, even though she can’t see you.

“I was expecting him to be a total dick from what you’ve told me about him. He’s the married guy, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, glancing over to the armchair he slept in last night, “Since he stopped drinking, it’s… been different. I think. I don’t know,” you shake your head, then bring your attention back to the TV screen, “I can’t trust my judgment with him.”

“Are you guys—”

“No,” you interject.

“Did you tell him about the—”

“Nope,” you cut her off again.

She grumbles in frustration on her end, then sighs, “Are you bringing him to Rachel’s wedding?”

“Maybe. If he wants to,” you frown as you consider this, “I might have to, actually. With the… parole thing.”

“Since she wants us all there for the whole stinkin’ week, yeah, probably,” Leah scoffs, then adds, “I’m so ready for it to be over with. She’s being a total bridezilla. You know how she gets.”

“Do I ever,” you mutter.

The door opens, and your eyes flick towards it. Frankie walks in with a backpack slung around his shoulder and nods at you in greeting. His dark curls look damp under his hat, and his gray t-shirt clings to his body in a way that makes heat creep up onto your cheeks.

Then you notice a brown paper bag crinkled up in one of his hands. The scent of deep-fried food fills the room.

“Is that Leah?” he asks.

“Is that Frankie?” Leah asks.

“Yeah,” you respond to both of them, then ask Frankie, “Did you bring me food?”

“Yeah,” he grins, holding the bag up like a trophy. Your mouth starts to salivate.

“I can let you go,” Leah says, “Just wanted to check in with you and see how you’re holding up.”

“Thanks,” you look down at the IV implanted in your hand, “I’ll keep you posted, ok?”

“Tell Frankie I said hi.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You hang up and toss the phone aside, “She says hi.”

“I like her, she’s nice,” he drops the backpack to the ground and hands you the bag of greasy food.

“Fuck yes,” you groan as you pull out flimsy containers of french fries and chicken strips.

“You did not look happy to have oatmeal for breakfast,” he chuckles, then sits in the armchair next to your bed and unzips the backpack, “I brought your book, your notebook, and, um…”

He pulls out a stuffed panda bear. You momentarily forget the fragile state of your lungs and gasp, which pulls a cluster of coughs up through your respiratory system. Through the fit, you reach out and snatch it from his hands.

It’s plush and squishy and fills you with joy when you hug it to your chest.

Frankie’s face simultaneously lights up and creases with concern. He leans forward and rubs your back, “Ok, ok, settle down.”

“It’s,” cough, “so,” cough, “cute—”

“I’m under strict orders to tell you Benny helped me pick it out,” Frankie reclines in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest.

Once you catch your breath, you smirk and waggle your eyebrows at him, teasing, “Oh, really? Benny did that—for me?”

“You’re hilarious,” he rolls his eyes and grabs the TV remote, then kicks his feet up onto the hospital bed. While you eat chicken strips and snuggle your new stuffed animal, he flips through channels, eventually settling on NASCAR, which lulls you back to sleep.

Tonight, family dinner is taking place in your bed.

Which sounds sexual, but it’s not.

You’re freshly discharged from the hospital, and Frankie spent the last two nights sleeping in an armchair, so you agreed that some intensive comfort time was needed. The TV has been playing movies back to back all day, and now the two of you lay under the covers, in your pajamas, with a big pizza box between your bodies.

When the credits for Fantastic Mr. Fox start, Frankie pauses it and rolls on his side to face you, “We’re still doing this part, right?”

“Yeah,” you yawn and follow his lead, wriggling onto your side, nuzzling against the stuffed panda bear. Your nose crinkles at the greasy pizza box and its remaining 3 slices.

“Hang on,” he mumbles, then sits up and moves the box onto the floor beside him.

When he returns, he settles closer to you. His dark irises flick about your features, then anchor onto your eyes with intensity. Your stomach flutters and heart swells.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat like he’s preparing it for the words he’s about to say. He takes a deep breath, then confesses, “I really thought I was gonna lose you,” he shakes his head, “And I was… so fucking terrified.”

The proof is in his voice, low and trembling and unsure. It occurs to you then that this man has faced critical situations, of which the overwhelming majority of people never dream of facing, with the kind of certainty and bravery that got him out alive. He’s not easily shaken.

But he was scared of losing you.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” you search his face and reach out to him.

He takes this offering, interweaving his fingers with yours, laying your clasped hands in space between you, “I know that now, but… fuck, I keep thinking about what would have happened if I wasn’t here. If I had gone to work, or—or if I didn’t live here, and things were still...”

His jaw clamps shut and gnashes from side to side as he averts his gaze, “I don’t know. If things were still… bad between us,” his eyes flick to yours and he shakes his head, “I don’t think I could live with that.”

Desperately, you want him to say more. You want him to deconstruct his carefully curated statement and lay it out for you. You want to ask: And what the fuck does that mean exactly? What are you trying to tell me without telling me?

But you’re still weighed down by the pull of fatigue’s gravity. Your throat is raw and lungs are cramped. Every muscle in your body still holds residual aches and pains.

Your lips part to speak, but you recant the words in your throat. Instead, you whisper, “Thank you for taking care of me, Frankie.”

“No problem,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sad kind of smirk, before folding down into a frown. His gaze is far away. Thoughtful. He runs his free hand through his mop of dark curls and releases a heavy sigh, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I care about you a lot. And… these past few weeks, they’ve been really hard,” he furrows his brow, then meets your eyes, “But they’ve also been really good, because I’ve been able to spend them with you.”

All the air is sucked from your lungs. A cough surfaces from deep in your chest and you smother it in your stuffed panda bear. He watches you and waits patiently for you to recover.

When you do, you admit quietly, “Did you know that you’re like… my only friend?”

“I am, really?” he raises his eyebrows.

A self-deprecating smile stretches across your face as you nod, then shrug, “I mean, Marla and my siblings don’t really count. They pretty much have to tolerate me.”

“And I don’t?” he teases, flashing you a playful grin.

His comment pokes at a tender spot in your brain. Your lip sticks out in a very real pout and you whimper, “Ouch.”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckles and scoots closer, beckoning you into his arms. You take this olive branch and wriggle into his embrace, letting your forehead rest on his chest as he hugs you and murmurs into your hair, “You know I love you, right?”

Both of your bodies go rigid the second it leaves his mouth. You feel his heart start pounding rapidly against your skin and he stammers, “I—I mean—like a friend—”

You wince at the pang that shoots through your damaged heart. The words you’ve always wanted to hear him say. With a caveat.

So typical.

Maybe it’s because the flu still has you in its clutches and you’re fucking exhausted, or maybe you’re just becoming numb to it all, but you let out a little snort and say, “I know what you mean.”

He seems to relax at this.

Neither of you move from the comfort of this embrace. In fact, you nuzzle in closer to him, letting your heavy eyelids drift closed as you yawn, “I love you, too, Franklin.”

His tongue clicks against his teeth and you feel him shake his head in feigned annoyance. You just know he’s rolling his eyes, too. His irritation makes you grin with satisfaction.

A heavy fog settles over your bodies. When you start to succumb to it, and you’re right on the edge of sleep, Frankie presses a kiss into the top of your head, then mumbles something unintelligible.

But before you can respond, dreamland has consumed you.

[ Next Chapter ]

MORE NOTES: Big inspiration for this chapter from the songs "SEVEN" by Rainbow Kitten Surprise and "Nobody Gets Me" by SZA.

#designated person #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character

175 notes · View notes